


we're not friends, we're strangers with memories

by Lise



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bickering, Canon-Typical Violence, Clint has possibly even more issues, Clint's Life Is Kind of Terrible, Cohabitation, Complete, Dark Comedy, Death Threats, Frienemyship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Issues, Loki Has Issues, Post-Movie(s), Roommates, Snark, Threats of Violence, all over the place, discussion of suicide, got a lot darker than anticipated, lots of death threats, sort of? if i had to choose a genre, the worst roommates ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2017-12-24 02:39:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 70,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/934273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lise/pseuds/Lise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint's life has been varying degrees of weird since he made the potentially questionable decision to join the Avengers Initiative. This is setting a new standard, though. And by 'this' we mean 'guess who's sitting in his apartment when Clint gets home.'</p><p>It's not the Tooth Fairy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is known affectionately as "the best dysfunctional sitcom ever" or possibly "help I’ve fallen into writing sitcoms about serious characters with serious issues." 
> 
> This thing came out of my burning need for a fic in which Clint and Loki ‘hang out’ and by that I mean ‘are ruthlessly awkward and unkind to each other.' I really have...no other justification. That's about it. Also I promised myself I wouldn't post two WIPs at the same time, but I'm really excited about this one and I just Want to Share. 
> 
> I'm so sorry. But not that sorry.
> 
> With much love to my beta, [zaataronpita](http://zaataronpita.tumblr.com); she makes a much more obedient hawkling than Clint Barton.

Another day, another supervillain. 

Sometimes Clint really missed SHIELD work. Simpler, for one, and he didn’t remember ever dragging himself back from a mission feeling quite this beat, though Nat claimed that was his faulty memory at work. She might have a point. 

Either way, it was barely even five and all he really wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for a good fourteen hours. 

He fumbled with the lock on his apartment door and blinked when it swung open, already unlocked. Tensing as he reached for his backup knife, he wished he hadn’t left the throwing knives with Tony, even if they were too blunt to be much good. He never left the door unlocked. Which meant that someone had been here. And might still be. 

“All right,” he said, in a loud voice. “Five seconds to say something or I stab first and ask questions later.”

Silence. After a moment, Clint shoved the door open the rest of the way, but the lights were off and he couldn’t see anyone. “Two seconds,” he said, loudly. “Fair warning, I don’t miss.” He stepped in cautiously, reached for the switch, and flicked it on. 

“I know,” said the nightmare on the couch, lounging casually on his furniture as though he belonged there. “Though that knife is weighted all wrong for throwing.” 

All of Clint’s muscles froze at once. His fingers spasmed around the hilt of his knife. _He’s here,_ he thought wildly. _He’s here to take me back._

Loki smiled thinly at him, green eyes remaining cool and unaffected. He wasn’t wearing his armor, just light linen that made him look smaller. Not much less threatening, though. “Good afternoon.”

Clint flung the knife. Loki moved just slightly at the last minute, and looked back at him, apparently unperturbed by the blade embedded in the couch barely an inch from his head. He groped for his communicator (he’s supposed to be in prison, he’s not even supposed to be on this planet) and had it in hand when Loki shifted. 

“Fair warning,” he murmured, “That should you summon anyone, Miss Romanova’s life will rapidly become very uncomfortable. There are all kinds of things I know she would rather the public did not know. And of course there is the matter of the location of her residence.” 

“You’re bluffing,” Clint said flatly, but he fell still. At least some of that – was shit that could get Nat in hot water for treason. Or worse. And Loki knew it because Clint had told him. There was a growing cold pit in his stomach. 

“Am I?” Loki didn’t sound amused. His gaze was cold and calm. Clint let go of the communicator, slowly. 

“What do you want,” he asked, harshly. “If you’re here for another attempted takeover, I’m – _we’re_ – happy to make sure it ends the same way as the last one.” 

A flicker of some emotion around the corner of Loki’s mouth, but Clint couldn’t quite pin it down, and he didn’t want to go hunting back through carefully ignored memories of what he’d gotten from Loki when he’d been his puppet. “Charming as ever. No.”

“How did you give your dad the slip?” Clint asked harshly, thinking fast. An energy signature like Loki’s would show up on Stark’s monitoring equipment, and if he could just stall long enough… Loki’s expression cracked for a moment into a snarl but smoothed again in moments. 

“I have no father, Barton, to give ‘the slip’ to.” Loki shrugged. “I have my ways.” 

There was something going on. Clint could feel it nagging at his instincts, something different, something that he was just missing. He took a step forward, then back, circled around the couch leaving plenty of room between himself and his unwanted guest. He could strike first, but that would likely just provoke him into a fight Clint knew he’d lose. So. Stall. Play for time.

“Your ways, huh? That’s cryptic.”

Loki smiled thinly. “I’m not inclined to inform you. Is that better?” 

“Not really, no.” He itched to reach for a weapon. To do something. At least to _leave._ Loki’s eyes followed him, flat and reptilian. It made his skin crawl. He could feel his muscles winding tight. _Kill him,_ a voice at the back of his mind said, and _Kneel,_ murmured another. He fought them both down. _Stop looking at me,_ he wanted to snap, and held that back too.

“Why are you here?” Clint asked bluntly, giving up on subtlety. How long would it take the others to notice? Not that long, JARVIS would alert Tony and… 

Loki’s mouth tilted up at the corners. “Why, I thought I would visit an old friend.” 

Clint felt himself twitch. “Uh huh.” 

“Why not?” Loki leaned back, sprawled loose-limbed and comfortable over most of the couch. “You were so _eager_ to help me before.” 

_Don’t attack him,_ Clint reminded himself. _You can’t win._

Loki’s smile widened very slightly. “You were wonderfully obedient, Clint Barton. My favorite…pet. So willing to do what needed to be done.Though if you’re going to be coy, perhaps Romanova would give me a better reception.”

Clint’s lips peeled back from his teeth. She was safe, of course she was safe, she could take care of herself, but- “Shut up.” 

“Touchy subject?” Loki said lightly, and leaned forward a little. “Why, concerned she might find me a more appealing altern-”

Clint made an inarticulate snarling noise and lunged. He grabbed the knife with one hand and Loki’s tunic thing with the other, hauled him off the couch and slammed the blade in under his ribs. _Worth it,_ he thought, savagely. _So goddamn-_

He let go. To his surprise, Loki stayed down, kneeling on the carpet with one hand as a brace. “What,” Clint said belligerently, “that it, you done?” _Get out,_ his thoughts screamed. _Get out now,_ but the urge to stay – and the rage – was stronger. 

A moment more of silence, then Loki reached for the knife with the other hand, pulled it out, and pressed his palm over the wound. Then he took a couple ragged breaths and looked up. Clint recoiled.

”Go on,” Loki said, baring his teeth up at Clint, a faintly mad glint in his eyes. “How long have you wanted this? How long have you _yearned_ , so very _desperately,_ to have me at your mercy-”

His voice wormed into his head, stirring up a tangle of feelings that made his stomach turn, longing and need and a vague feeling of loss. Clint lashed out almost blindly, felt the satisfying crunch of Loki’s nose breaking under his fist. The surge of sick, hot satisfaction almost made him reel, and he struck again, _again,_ hatred boiling up like bile, like he could get rid of all of it if he could just-

Loki was laughing, Clint realized. _Laughing._

He hauled himself back, forced his hand to release the handful of cloth he’d seized at Loki’s throat and looked at his face. Blood dripped from his nose and he swayed as Clint released him, still laughing. His eyes gleamed, almost feverish. “Why stop?” Loki said, voice sickeningly smooth. “Do you think _I_ would? I wouldn’t. Let it out, hawkling. Let it _all_ out.” 

Clint took a sharp step back, his head spinning. _Hawkling._ Violence surged again, _break him, make him beg—_

“Or are you too _weak_ to even do what you want? Too _broken-_ ”

“Shut up,” Clint snarled. 

“Or what?” That voice, needling at his brain, cruel, mocking. He needed it to stop. “What are you going to do?” Clint took a step forward, and that ghostly white face streaked with red grinned at him like a death’s head. “What will you do? What _can_ you, helpless, wretched, pathetic-”

_Useless, weak, broken-_

He lunged, blood pounding in his ears, his fingers around the throat of this specter of his own thoughts, choking off that voice, that awful, pervasive, constant, violating voice that never left him alone-

Clint blinked, his head clearing in the sudden silence. His fingers dug into the pale flesh of Loki’s throat, clamped squeezing around his neck, and he was suddenly acutely aware of the pulse jumping under his fingers, the faint choking sound as he struggled for air. Loki’s hands groped at his wrists, wrapped around them, but didn’t pull even as his body began to convulse forlack of air, and his eyes, wide, laughing, a flicker of satisfaction-

He let go violently and shoved himself back, almost stumbling away. “I’m not your weapon anymore,” he snarled. “I don’t know why you’re trying to – but you can’t use me. You can’t – you can’t-” Clint swallowed convulsively. 

Loki coughed, chest heaving, but his eyes glittered in his too pale face. “Can’t do it, hawkling?” 

“I _could_ ,” Clint snapped. “I’m just not-”

Wait. 

“What are you waiting for?” Loki asked, tone thick with mockery. “Or have you changed your mind and decided to come back to me after all?”

Clint pushed down the surge of temper and bile, tried to focus. Loki’s nose was slightly crooked. Clint had felt it break. A glance down showed that the stab wound was still bleeding. And this close, he was aware of what he’d felt to be missing. It was that indefinable presence that Thor radiated constantly and that he remembered from being near Loki, a sense of power humming just under the skin. But Loki was just…

“You’re human,” he said blankly. 

Loki’s teeth bared. “Very good. You’ve puzzled it out. Cunning, clever hawkling. Let no one say the All-Father does not have a sense of irony.”

Clint felt hysteria bubbling up in him. “That’s _all? This_ is your punishment? Everything you did and you just get sent to have a time out on _Earth?_ ”

Loki’s expression twisted. “Make no mistake. This is not leniency. Still, if you like, you ought to go complain to him. It was not _my_ choice.”

“Wasn’t your-” Something was beginning to come together. _This is not leniency._ The deliberate way Loki had goaded him into a rage when he _had_ to know how vulnerable he was without god-strength. Clint took another step back. “Hold on,” he said. “Was this some sort of – fucked up attempt at suicide by Avenger?” The anger was coming back. 

Loki’s face stretched in a grotesque grin. “Rather nicely done, I thought.” He wavered, very slightly, eyes glittering with a kind of desperate, manic mirth. “Odin denied me a quick death. I was always resourceful. Didn’t I say you were always willing to do what needed to be done?”

“You fucker,” Clint said savagely. 

“Yes,” Loki murmured. “Rather.” Then he went limp and slid facedown to the floor with a quiet sigh.

* * *

The voice in his head that urged dumping former god Loki Whateverson in a dumpster and forgetting about the whole thing was more than just a quiet one. There weren’t a whole lot of reasons not to, either. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t deserve it. 

On the other hand, Loki had barged back into Clint’s life looking to die, and for that reason alone Clint was tempted to spite him. Because letting the bastard bleed to death in some back alley would be giving him exactly what he wanted, and would be proving that he still was just Loki’s weapon, and it just wasn’t…

Fuck him. If he thought living life as a lowly human was that bad, then he could enjoy it. 

Loki was lucky he hadn’t been aiming for anything vital. He was still breathing, if shallowly, once Clint made up his mind. Clint left Loki on the floor while he threw together the shittiest sewing job he’d ever done, slapped gauze over it, and sat back on his heels. He wasn’t going to lie. It was pretty satisfying seeing His Highness’s pretty face messed up with bruises. 

At least until his eyes strayed a little down and he saw the fingermarks around his throat. His stomach did a funny uneasy lurch and he stood up hurriedly, turning his back.

Though he did go back, after a moment, to cuff Loki’s hands. And then his ankles, just in case. _Human_ didn’t, after all, necessarily mean _defenseless,_ and he had a feeling Loki was going to wake up pissed. 

Loki did. 

The first thing he said was a long string of what were definitely profanities in what was definitely not English. The second was something directed more particularly at Clint – perched on his couch with his bow to hand – and Clint suspected that it would have blistered the skin off his face if Loki weren’t depowered. He stayed where he was. 

“What do you think you are doing,” he snapped. 

“Saving your life,” Clint said blandly. “Sorry to disappoint.” 

Loki thrashed wildly against the restraints, snarling like he was going to rip Clint’s throat out with his teeth. He looked frantic, feral. “Weakling,” he said savagely. “ _Coward_. What kind of Avenger are you when you cannot even avenge yourself?” 

“I don’t know,” Clint said, “I’m feeling pretty good about my life choices.” Loki’s eyes blazed with hate and his whole body writhed in impotent rage. “Careful. You’ll pop your stitches. That hurts us mortals, you know.” 

“I’ll rip your filthy tongue out of your mouth,” Loki promised. Clint shrugged. 

“Somehow I don’t think so.” Loki snarled, and Clint raised his eyebrows. “Keep doing that I might have to slap a muzzle on you.” 

“I don’t need magic to kill you. And I will. If you do not-”

“Try to push me again and I’ll just cripple you. No super healing anymore. You want that? Want to spend the rest of your pathetic little life broken, helpless, crawling for scraps…” 

Loki’s eyes flashed. His face was drawn tight with pain, Clint noticed. Too bad. (Deep down, Clint felt a little twinge of unease.) “Pathetic, puling, _insect,_ ” Loki spat. 

“Yeah,” Clint said, “You too.” He stood up. “You know, there’s honestly no point in calling in anyone to deal with you, huh. You’re not a threat for the Avengers to handle.”

Loki sneered. “Do you just intend to let me go _free?_ I might wreak any amount of havoc. I _will_. Can you _bear_ that on your _fragile_ conscience?”

Clint shrugged again. “Way you are now…any policeman could take you out. So why not? You can’t do much. You’re basically neutered. Gelded. Whichever. So…”

“If you let me leave here I will see to it Romanov suffers. And the others. All of them. A few words in the right ears – I can do _that_ much still, don’t mistake me.” Loki’s voice was low and fierce and, Clint heard, desperate. Huh. 

He took a step forward and crouched down next to Loki, who fought the cuffs again. There were already swelling welts under the metal Clint hadn’t bothered to pad. Looking at the reddening marks on slender wrists, he made himself push down the first response. _Leftovers. That’s all._ “Wow. Is being human really _that_ bad? Or are you just that quick to give up? You’re practically _begging_ me.” 

Loki’s jaw clenched visibly. “You have no _idea_. I would rather take a clean death than linger in this decaying flesh.” 

It could have been true. Clint almost believed it. The disgust in Loki’s voice was certainly genuine. But some small part of him whispered _lie._

He leaned in. “Uh huh. What’re you scared of, Loki?” 

Loki’s hands flashed up very suddenly, cuffs dangling from one wrist – _shit, of course he could get out of those_ – pulled Clint down and rolled them both over, pinned Clint on his back. Fingers dug into his throat, cut off his air. “You should have taken my first offer,” he said, low and vicious. “Now – if I kill you, I don’t doubt your friends will rush-”

Clint regathered himself and slammed his fist up into the gauze covering fresh stitches under Loki’s ribs. He made a strangled sound and his hands loosened just enough for Clint to suck in a breath and strike again, this time grinding two knuckles directly into the wound. He felt the stitches pop under the pressure. 

Loki let out a short, harsh scream and jerked away. Clint shoved him off and scrambled to his feet. “Try a stunt like that again and I’ll make damn sure-”

“Kill me or I kill you,” Loki rasped harshly. “Those are your options, Clint Barton.” His face was white, tight with pain. “Your _only_ options.” 

“Or I could just beat your ass up and call your brother down here, let _him-_ ”

“Do you think I can’t enact my failsafe from a cage? Anything but the options I’ve given you and I _swear_ to you that it will not be an hour before your lover is crucified for her past misdeeds. Another hour and I’ll undo the rest. Do you doubt me?” 

Loki’s voice was fervent, harsh. He meant every word. _Just do it,_ Clint thought. _Who cares if it’s what he wants? Kill him and it’s over for good._

_He doesn’t own me._ “No,” Clint said. Loki shoved himself partially upright. There was fresh blood on the bandaging. “I don’t like your choices.” 

“That’s a pity. They’re the choices you get.” Loki’s teeth bared, but it looked more like pain than anything else. 

“What about a counteroffer?” Clint said, voice deliberately casual. “You can’t win a fight right now. I’m not going to kill you. I could just dump you back on the street. I have a feeling that’s what you’re trying to avoid. You’re running from something big, and you’ve got no chance and you know it.” 

“I don’t hear an offer.”

“You turn yourself in. Maybe you can talk Fury into giving you enough rope to hang yourself with.” 

Loki’s laugh was harsh. “You’re not a very good bargainer.”

“Good enough. You want a time limit to decide? How about-”

“Fine,” Loki said, his expression a rictus. “ _Fine_ , if you are so _weak_ that you refuse to enact your own desires – I will simply stay here until you change your mind.” 

“You – _what?_ ”

Loki smiled thinly and unpleasantly. “As you pointed out, I have nowhere else to go.” Clint’s stomach started churning. _Kill him,_ said the rational voice, again. _You’ll do it anyway before the week is out, if he actually…_

“No,” he said, flatly. “No, and if you don’t back down right now-”

“Remember Miss Romanova, hawkling.” 

“Don’t call me that,” Clint hissed. _Kill him kill him kill him._ No. He could figure this out without doing what Loki wanted him to. It would just take a little bit of thinking. A little bit of time. Loki might be bluffing about his threat. Of course he might. Was he willing to take that risk? _Just do it. Just kill him._ Loki’s eyes bored into him. 

“Well?” 

“You’re not staying here. You can’t _actually_ think that I’ll agree to this.” 

“It’s your choice, Barton. _You_ refused my generous initial offer.” His lips curled up at the corners. “Should you change your mind, of course…”

“You being so attached to the idea of dying makes it far less appealing,” Clint said. This wasn’t happening, he thought hopefully. Any minute he would wake up and…

“Contradiction for the sake of contradiction? How mature.” Loki’s stare was cold. “Choose, hawkling.” 

_Choose._ What else could he do? _All else fails,_ Clint thought grimly. _You can always change your mind._ That didn’t seem comforting.

“You sleep on the couch,” Clint snapped, “and the minute you pull anything…”

“What,” Loki said, with obvious amusement. “You’ll kill me?” 

God, Clint hated him. Just not enough. Or maybe too much. He turned his back. “You can fix your own stitches. Don’t bleed on my furniture.”

* * *

Clint slept spottily and poorly, waking at the slightest noise. None of them were Loki creeping into his room in the middle of the night, though, so he woke up cranky and overtired rather than with any new holes in his body. For about a half a minute stumbling out of his room to scrounge up some coffee, he thought the whole thing had been some kind of bizarre, surreal, fucked up dream. 

Loki was sitting at the table already, back ramrod straight and peeling the shell off of a hard boiled egg. He glanced up briefly as Clint entered, looked him over, and then looked back down in clear dismissal. Clint set his teeth to ignore it. 

“You look terrible,” his voice floated out as Clint went fishing for the coffee grounds. “I hope you didn’t sleep poorly.” Loki looked pale, but other than that and the stiff way he held himself there was no obvious sign that he was hiding a stab wound under his clothes. Clint supposed he probably knew how to do a field dressing, and was just stubborn enough to pretend it wasn’t bothering him. He was tempted to poke him just to see what would happen.

“Fuck off,” Clint said bluntly. The grounds were in the breadbox, for some reason. Clint would have suspected Loki, except that it was fairly likely he’d put them there himself. He dug out the coffee pot, eyed it, gave it a cursory rinse and stuck it in the machine. Tony fucking Stark probably didn’t have to make his own coffee, Clint thought resentfully. Probably had a gadget to do it for him. Maybe he could poach that. 

“Such vehemence, only for expressing a wish for your well being?” Loki clicked his tongue. “For shame.” 

Clint’s lips pressed together. “How about you? Nice, restful nap? Nightmares all gone?” He didn’t see Loki twitch, but he almost heard it. “Did you think I’d forget that little detail?”

“I’m touched by your concern.” Loki’s voice was perfectly level, unperturbed. “Unnecessary though it may be. But if I was the cause of your restlessness, I would like to assure you that I would never kill you in your sleep.” 

“Sure.” Clint started up the coffee and turned around. “You’re just a good guy that way.” 

“Of course not,” Loki said placidly, and took a bite out of his egg. “I would kill you looking into your eyes, making sure that you knew that to strike you down was an act of mercy that meant you wouldn’t have to see the ruin of all you love.” 

Clint just stared at him for a moment, then said, “How are you going to pull that off?” 

“I shall be sure to let you know the moment it becomes my intention.” Loki’s eyes returned to his plate. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly. Clint felt himself bristle. 

“You’re helpless,” Clint said, viciously. “Powerless. So yeah, that’s something I’d like to hear. Make for a good laugh.” 

Loki’s eyes flashed, very briefly. It was still satisfying. “I might say the same of you. Yet you served your purpose…adequately.” 

More than adequately, Clint wanted to snap. _You_ said so, _you_ told me I was the best, but even just thinking about admitting any of that made him want to throw up on Loki’s plate. “Yeah, well, difference is that I’m not a failure.” He heard Loki’s teeth click together and turned around as the coffeepot beeped. “So, you know.”

“This must be _so_ enjoyable for you,” Loki said after a moment, almost spitting the words. Clint poured himself a mug and blew on it, half hoping Loki would lunge at him. 

“Yeah,” he said blithely, turning back to face him. “A little. If you get tired of it, you’re welcome to leave.” Loki’s teeth flashed, and Clint watched his right hand flex and then forcibly relax. 

“Yes. I’m sure that would suit you very well.” Loki said, his voice not quite harsh but definitely acidic. “I’m so sorry I am not more accommodating.” 

“And I’m sorry you’re in my apartment. So I guess that makes two of us.” Clint swallowed another gulp of coffee. “I’ve gotta be out today. Work stuff. You can stay here and not touch anything.” 

Loki’s eyes narrowed. “Awfully trusting of you.” 

Clint shrugged. “Not so much. I just know you’re not going to be able to do much without keeling over, and if you do pull anything I’ll beat the shit out of you, tie you to a lamppost and leave you for SHIELD. So.” 

His jaw did that little spasm again. “Clear enough,” he said smoothly, and stood with his empty plate. Clint just caught the wince as he straightened too fast. 

“If you’re really good,” Clint said, with a slightly nasty smile, “Maybe I’ll stop by and pick up some painkillers.” 

Loki slipped past him and over to the sink, turned on the water. Clint could almost hear his teeth grinding. When he spoke, though, his voice was back to amiably pleasant. “I am curious. ‘Work,’ you said. For your Avengers, or SHIELD?”

“None of your business,” Clint said. His fingers tapped an irregular rhythm against the counter until he made them stop. 

“I merely wondered if SHIELD had you back in the field again already.”

_Don’t answer that._ Clint stared at the back of his neck and pictured putting one of the steak knives through Loki’s spine, and waited. As the silence stretched out, he imitated a start. “Oh – were you waiting for an answer?” 

Loki shut off the water. His voice didn’t alter in the slightest. “How many weeks did they test you before they allowed you back in the field?” Clint didn’t let himself tense. “What sorts of trials did they put you through, to ensure there was none of _me_ left?”

Clint made himself shrug. “A few. I cleared them all easy, though. Didn’t stick very well, did it?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. The working hooked into you like there was a hole in your soul just _made_ for me.” For a ghastly moment, Clint could almost see it, his – _soul_ , whatever, squirming on a fishhook made of blue light. 

“It wasn’t even yours,” Clint burst out. “You could only pull that off because they let you. The Chitauri. Because they _gave_ you the power, and you couldn’t even keep that. You were powerless then too, remember? I’d think you’d be used to it by now.” 

Loki’s teeth flashed as he turned, plate still in hand. “You have no idea what I can do.” 

“Could,” Clint said, ruthlessly. “Used to be able to. Remember? You’re just regular old mortal now.” Loki made a sharp move in his direction, only to stop, free hand going to his side with a sound not quite a hiss. Clint raised his eyebrows. “What,” he said, “hurts? Get used to it. You’ll be feeling that for a while.” 

Loki subsided. Slowly. Clint watched him rein himself back in and control his expression back to brutal neutrality.

“Better face it,” Clint said. “This is what your life looks like now. Forever. Cause I’m guessing you don’t have a get out of death free card like your brother.” The noise Loki made was somewhere between a hiss and a snarl. 

“This must be why I liked you,” he said, voice smoothed back to even. “You are like me. Vindictive. Cruel.”

“Yeah?” Clint leaned a little forward. “Maybe. But I’m an _Avenger._ You know what you are?” He grinned. “ _Nothing._ You’ve got nothing, and no one. The only person in the _world_ you thought you could come to is _me,_ and I hate your guts so much I’m leaving you alive to spite you.Yeah, I’m _vindictive._ You know what else? I’m still better than you.” He drained the rest of his coffee and set the mug down, turned his back to go and get dressed. He needed out of here. “You can wash my mug. I’ve got places to be.” 

“You haven’t answered my question.” 

Clint didn’t even glance over his shoulder. “Am I supposed to feel like I have to?” 

“What did it take to prove to them that you were – how might they put it – _clean?_ ” 

“Is there some kind of point to this? Or are you just talking to listen to your own voice, cause-”

“What did it take to prove it to yourself?” 

Clint went rigid. Unable to sleep except with Natasha right there, reassuring him when he woke, _it’s still you. You’re still you._ The times he still caught himself checking the mirror for specks of blue, for some kind of _wrongness_ … “I know the difference,” he said, harshly. “It’s pretty clear when I’m in charge of my own mind.” 

He could hear the smile in Loki’s voice. “Is it?” 

“Yeah,” Clint said firmly. “It is.” 

“So _certain._ Although in truth…I don’t think you are.” 

“Good thing your opinion doesn’t matter,” Clint said harshly, and headed back down the hallway. “Keep talking and I’ll see about picking up a replica of that muzzle Thor put on you. Looked pretty good.”

“Does it bother you because I’m wrong, or because I’m merely voicing what you’re afraid to say?” Clint turned at the door to his bedroom. 

“Honestly? Mostly it bothers me because I have to listen to you talk and it’s too early for me to deal with your bullshit.” He opened the door. “So go ahead. Keep bugging me. I’d love an excuse to hogtie you and leave you in the bathtub for a day.”

He managed to not slam the door behind him. Barely. 

This was never, he thought, breathing a little raggedly, going to work. He might as well just put a bullet through Loki’s head now, or he’d end up putting one through his own. 

Maybe if he just _told_ Natasha, explained what was going on…

She’d just kill him. Probably gladly. Problem solved, no more Loki in his apartment, no more threat to Nat, everything good, _peachy._ Why didn’t he just do that? 

If Thor found out there would probably be a serious problem. That was one reason. He didn’t know how Loki’s failsafe was activated, and if he didn’t disable that first, Natasha would be in trouble. There was another one. The satisfaction of watching Loki squirm. And the other one…

The last reason Clint didn’t look at too closely. At least not now. 

He took a quick shower, threw on some clothes and grabbed his equipment before reemerging. Loki was not, as he’d half hoped, gone, but merely migrated back to the couch, where he was sitting looking disappointingly not in pain. Clint headed for the door without looking too hard in his direction. 

“Have fun,” Loki’s voice wafted after him. Clint ignored it.

* * *

Natasha noticed something was wrong, of course. He didn’t quite manage to settle his jitters quickly enough. The look she gave him at team briefing was sharp, but she didn’t say anything until they had a moment to talk quietly.

“What’s up,” she asked, barely more than a murmur. For a moment, he considered again telling her everything, but at the last minute changed his mind. Clint smoothed his face and shrugged. 

“Nothing new.” 

Nat’s mouth tightened and the little flash of anger in her eyes was…probably inappropriately pleasing. “Would you like me to come over tonight?” she asked, plainly and without pity, but Clint still felt his shoulders tense up. He forced them not to. 

“Nah,” he said. “I need to sleep. If you’re over…” he waggled his eyebrows at her and she swatted his shoulder with a sharp backhand that just made him grin wider. She made a disgusted noise, but seemed to accept his answer. 

No one else bothered to ask. Clint looked closely at Thor, and wondered if he looked a little melancholy. He couldn’t be sure, though. Maybe he was projecting. _He_ sure felt a little melancholy. His thoughts kept floating back to his apartment, what kind of havoc Loki might be wreaking, if he’d killed Mrs. Brustein’s yappy dog (all right, he might not mind that one so much) or maybe Mrs. Brustein…

Fortunately, it was a publicity day, so he didn’t really have all that much to do. Stand around and look pretty, basically, and he could slink away with fairly thin excuse after it was over. He felt more than a twinge of resentment at needing to, though. Maybe he should have just tied Loki up in the bathtub anyway for his peace of mind. 

He got back to his apartment and paused to listen at the door for a moment before going in. He couldn’t hear anything inside, though, and while he was standing there of course his landlord walked by to see him with his ear pressed to the door. Clint straightened quickly. 

She gave him a powerfully suspicious look. 

“Just making sure my friends aren’t trying to throw me a surprise party,” Clint said, with a smile that felt too tight. She raised her eyebrows, apparently unimpressed. For some reason she always seemed to think he was likely to do something criminal. What, Clint wasn’t exactly sure. 

“Uh-huh.” 

Clint was suddenly very sure Loki was going to come to the door and say something inopportune, right then. The door stayed shut, though. “Yep,” Clint affirmed. “Seems safe, though.” She raised her eyebrows a little further, and Clint gave up on trying to be convincing, threw out an, “Afternoon,” and let himself into his apartment. 

Loki was stretched out on his couch, turning something over in his hands. When the door opened, he held it up without glancing over. “What is this?” he asked, and it took Clint a moment to realize that it was – had been – his alarm clock. Now thoroughly gutted, definitely unusable, and probably unsalvageable. 

For a moment, Clint just stared at him, almost disbelieving. Six, maybe seven hours. That was _all._ And one day. “What the hell,” he snarled. Loki didn’t look impressed and turned his head to glance at him. “What are you – why did you _take it apart?_ ”

Loki shrugged. “I wanted to see how it worked. I was bored.” 

“You wanted to-” Clint swore. “Are you trying to _irritate_ me into offing you?”

Loki’s eyes returned to the alarm clock. “Is it working?” 

“No,” Clint snarled, though inwardly he was pretty sure the answer was yes. “Do you realize how pathetic you sound? You’re practically begging me-”

“Desperate times, desperate measures,” Loki said easily, and Clint wanted very devoutly to haul him off the couch and punch him in the face. “It is hardly as though my situation can get very much worse.” 

“Maybe I can help with that.”

“Mm.” Loki set the remnants of the alarm clock aside. “Are you going to answer my question or not?” 

“It _was_ my alarm clock. And you’re going to owe me for a new one.” Loki gave him a thoroughly dry smile. 

“To be paid in what, exactly?” He stretched his arms over his head and closed his eyes. “I suppose I could offer sexual favors, but I don’t think that’s what you mean.” Clint just stared at the ex-god and made a violently disgusted noise, unable to summon any other response. 

“How’s the stab wound,” he said, finally, for lack of any other response. 

“What would you do if I said it was festering?” Clint opened his mouth, then closed it. He didn’t have a ready answer for that one. 

“Wait until you got sick enough I could kick you out,” he said, finally. Loki seemed faintly amused. 

“I see.” He opened one eye. “I have been remiss, however. How was your day? Your motley band of heroes still clinging together?”

“My day was fine, thanks, and you’re just going to have to live in curiosity.” Clint strode across the room and kicked Loki’s leg. “Get off.”

Loki’s eyebrows rose. “Is that any way to ask?”

“I don’t have to kill you to make your life miserable,” Clint said flatly. A smile bloomed on Loki’s face, and he pushed himself up on his elbows. 

“Oh, is that the way it’s to be? You push me, and I push you. Who do you think will give first, oh my hawkling?” Clint felt his lips peel back from his teeth before he could control his face. “I know you. I know exactly how brittle you are. Play any game against me and I will win.” He sat up a little further. “I have you, as you might put it, by the balls. How long do you think you can tolerate that?” 

“A lot longer,” Clint said, “knowing that you’ve fallen far enough that me killing you is the best option you can come up with.” His smile felt ugly. “You’re not a threat anymore, Loki. You’re a nuisance. That’s all.”

Loki moved sharply like he was going to stand, and stopped almost at once with a sharp inhale, one of his hands going to his side. His eyes were full of hate and Clint held himself ready, prepared if Loki made a move, but he didn’t. 

Clint stepped around him and flopped onto the couch, deliberately casual as he reached for the remote. “Thanks for moving,” he drawled, and turned on the TV, turning up the volume. Loki stayed there, breathing hard, until he finally turned and retreated back into the apartment. “If you touch my stuff I’m not giving you any dinner!” Clint called after him, and imagined he could almost hear Loki’s teeth grind.

* * *

He didn’t see any more of Loki until the evening, which suited Clint _just_ fine. He imagined vaguely – and without much hope – that Loki had just fucked off already and things could get back to their usual level of crazy as opposed to the current level of crazy. 

Of course, he wasn’t quite that lucky. If he were that lucky, he wouldn’t be _in_ this situation to begin with. 

“What is this?” 

The audible disdain in Loki’s voice made Clint grit his teeth. “Dinner,” he said, flatly. “For me.” 

Loki scoffed. “That _is_ a relief. It smells like swill.” 

“Good thing I made enough for two, then,” Clint said, not looking up though he felt his shoulders tense. _It smells fine,_ he wanted to snap, defensively. _You ate what I made you happily enough before. You used to say,_ but he didn’t want to bring that up even a little bit. “Go ahead, sit down. Swill’s waiting.”

Loki made a faint and elegantly exasperated sound. “Haven’t you anything _else?_ ”

“Not for you,” Clint said easily. “And if you go digging around in my fridge I will tie you down and force feed you fish sauce. Okay?” 

Loki’s lip curled. “If you think I am going to begin to find your impudence entertaining…”

“Oh no,” Clint said, and took a generous bite of his food. “I’m not trying to entertain _you_. I _am_ entertaining me.” He cocked his head a little to the side. “Also…wouldn’t impudence require that you were actually on a level above me? As opposed to where you are, which…”

Loki made a sound like he’d tried to swallow a snarl. “I am not going to put up with this sort of – _humiliation_. From you, of _all_ people. And whatever that is, I will not eat it.”

“Literal beggars can’t be choosers,” Clint said, keeping his eyes on Loki. Loki’s hands twitched like he was considering trying to put them around Clint’s throat. “And that’s what you are, isn’t it?” 

“I will go out, then,” Loki said, tersely. “You have plenty of restaurants at which I may find something acceptable-”

“With what money?” Clint gave him a patronizing smile. “Generally people are going to expect you to pay. And that’s if they don’t peg you as a war criminal and call the police on your sorry ass.”

“I’ll use yours,” Loki said, through his teeth. Clint laughed. 

“Uh huh. Even if you could – you do that and I will make your life even more miserable than it already is. And that still doesn’t get rid of the problem where you’re _pretty_ distinctive, even in the bedraggled version.”

Loki was breathing shallowly and rapidly. His face flickered between emotions too quick to catch, but there was definitely fury, and Clint felt a warm, almost hot feeling of satisfaction. He’d backed Loki into a corner, and they both knew it. _How’s it feel,_ he thought, eyes boring into Loki. _Being on the other end of it?_

“You eat whatever I’m willing to let you,” Clint said, keeping his voice level and calm, hoping none of his triumph was coming through. “Or you don’t eat. And that’s not going to work out too well for you now that you’re a sickly mortal, in case you didn’t know.” While he was waiting, he took a bite from his own plate, chewed it with exaggeration. “Honestly, you should be grateful I _do_ feel like feeding you. I’m not rolling in money.”

Loki’s lips peeled back from his teeth. “I _dearly_ hope that I live long enough to watch you choke on your own blood as you die,” he said, perfectly flat. Clint gave him a smile. 

“That’d leave you kind of fucked, wouldn’t it?” He said, pleasantly.

Loki sat down, at length, a tic twitching in his jaw. He picked up the fork delicately, his eyes looking straight through Clint. Clint didn’t bother to suppress a smirk. 

“Good call,” he said, and lifted his glass in a mock toast. “Cheers.”

The look Loki gave him could have burned through metal, and Clint had to fight himself not to flinch back. A moment later it was wiped away, though, Loki’s expression perfectly blank, and he ate in absolute silence. 

Clint tried not to let it get to him, and did not, in the _least,_ feel guilty.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No especially new notes to add here; thanks again to [my own personal hawkling](http://zaataronpita.tumblr.com), without whom I would be as much of a mess as Loki, or Clint, or possibly both. And I'm delighted at the interest in this! You all are lovely. 
> 
> But you're not here for me.

Clint hoped someday he would look back on this time in his life and laugh. And not the bitter, hysterical kind, either, cause he was pretty sure he was already halfway to that one. He was counting five days, though, and he hadn’t killed either himself or his new houseguest yet. He’d decided to call that an accomplishment and not a sign of his impending mental breakdown.

He wasn’t sleeping well, though, and the third time in a row he woke up sweating with hazy memories of Loki’s voice in his ear he gave up on sleeping and went out to the living room, half hoping for the chance to wake Loki up. As always, though, he was already awake.

“Do you ever sleep?” Clint asked bluntly. Loki didn’t so much as glance at him.

“Occasionally. More than you do, perhaps.” Loki held up a bowl. “Cashew?”

“Those are mine,” Clint said. “And I’m not taking anything you offer me.”

“Suit yourself.” Loki sounded faintly amused, and Clint hated him more than ever. For a moment he seriously considered telling Loki yes, fine, you win, do you want an arrow through the eye or should I just cut your throat? That was the headache talking, though. He’d never been a morning person.

Clint paced over to the kitchen and started making coffee. “I thought I said not to take anything out of my cabinets.”

“Because I am of _course_ going to follow your instructions.” Loki snorted, softly. “I don’t think you were fool enough to expect a mild threat to be much of a deterrent to me.”

“So I need to work on a more serious threat? Cause I can get pretty creative, if you want.”

“Be my guest.” Loki didn’t sound terribly impressed, and Clint grimaced to himself. Being around Loki was turning him into a B-movie sci-fi villain, and he didn’t like it. “But if you’re expecting me to be impressed…”

“Oh, yeah,” Clint said flatly. “Cause impressing you is my _first_ goal.”

Loki’s mouth turned up slightly at the corners, and Clint knew he’d said the wrong thing before Loki spoke a word. “It was, once.”

“If you didn’t notice,” Clint said, hearing his voice harden, “not so much anymore.” He glanced over at the kitchen and paced over to fill a glass of water.

“I noticed.” Loki still just sounded faintly amused. “Do you miss it?”

“No,” Clint said without hesitation. Loki laughed, quietly.

“You answered too quickly, Barton. Try for more nonchalance in your denials and they might be more convincing.” Loki stretched lazily. “As it stands…”

“You can stop trying to fuck with my head,” Clint said, brutally flat. “I know you can’t do anything to me anymore.”

“Can’t I?” Loki’s voice lilted, strangely, and Clint caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned around quickly and found Loki moving toward him, motions fluid and graceful as Clint remembered, and for a moment he twitched with the urge to drop his eyes. “Even as I am…there’s still a great deal I can do with you.”

Clint made himself snort even as his instincts urged him to back off and stop prodding the volatile ex-god with psychotic tendencies. “That so?”

“Magic or not, I know you, Clint Barton. Better than anyone.” Loki’s voice was almost a croon, and Clint felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “You are so _very_ pleased with yourself. I can strip that away from you.” Clint’s neck itched. His hands itched for a bow, a knife, something, and he kept himself from shifting into a defensive position even as Loki drew within arm’s reach. He felt his breathing quicken and forced it to slow.

“How do you plan to do that? Seems to me you can’t even get me to kill you like you want me to,” Clint said, his jaw set, wishing he had his sunglasses on so he didn’t have to meet those too-green eyes. “Seems to me-”

“You didn’t beat me, hawkling.”

Clint fell still. That name crawled down his spine with its easy, familiar affection and it made him want to vomit almost as much as the words. He shoved his panic ruthlessly down and didn’t let himself budge. “Maybe _I_ didn’t. The Avengers did,” Clint said harshly. “We won.” Loki’s eyes glittered.

“Tell me, hawkling, how victorious do you feel?”

“We beat you,” he said. “That’s what counts, isn’t it? Where I’m sitting you seem pretty finished.” He caught a faint flare of anger in Loki’s eyes and even if it was gone fast, it was something. “I mean,” Clint pushed, “It’s kind of pathetic. How completely you lost. You’ve got nothing. _Really_ nothing.”

“Whereas you are the picture of fortune and health.” Loki’s voice had a new edge in it, his right hand flexing at his side. “Hiding away from your so-called friends. Tossing and turning the night through in restless sleep. Constantly searching yourself, constantly unsure that it is truly you, that your mind is entirely your own…do you think the others wonder? Whisper behind your back, asking if you’ve changed…”

“Shut up,” Clint snapped. “Nat broke your little – _trick._ ”

Loki leaned back on his heels and smiled slightly. “Ah.”

_Don’t ask. Don’t say anything. Walk away._ “What.”

“I hadn’t realized you thought as much. I suppose it would be comforting, to think that she might be your rescuer and liberator.”

Clint could feel himself bristle at the same time as the skin on the back of his neck tried to crawl. “What are you saying,” he asked, almost unwillingly.

“I let you go,” Loki said easily. “You had served your purpose well enough.” Clint felt cold, and Loki leaned forward again. “As I said. You didn’t beat me. _Hawkling._ ”

“That’s a lie,” Clint said, but he heard the edge in his own voice.

“Is it? Indeed.” Loki half closed his eyes. “It didn’t seem – well – too easy?”

His stomach knotted. It had, hadn’t he thought the same thing, over and over, examined himself for the smallest trace, the smallest remnant, almost _waiting…_ “I don’t believe you.”

Loki smiled his shark’s grin. “And yet. And yet I can almost smell the doubt on you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Clint said. “Whether it was you or Nat – I’m still out. _You’re_ still out. And you still lost. Unless you’re going to try to convince me that you meant to do that?” Loki laughed again, the sound sickeningly affectionate, and Clint thought if he’d been holding a knife he wouldn’t have been able to resist the urge to ram it through his vocal cords.

“No…but I thought you should know. I kept you as long as I needed you, and when you were no longer useful…” Loki spread his hands, and Clint felt a chill crawl down his spine and hated the part of him that wanted to whine that he could have been useful forever, that it was Loki who had cast him aside and left him behind.   

“Shouldn’t have done that, I guess,” Clint said, without emotion. “Looks to me like you turned out needing me to do more for you after all.” One of Loki’s hands rose in his peripheral vision, and Clint jerked back. Loki smirked narrowly and let his hand fall.

“Perhaps not,” he said, just as calmly. “Though I doubt you would have turned the tide, little a creature as you are. Nonetheless…I would have laughed to see your spider struggle to fight against you.”

“She wouldn’t,” Clint said, with certainty. “And if you think she would, you’re still underestimating her.” He turned his back, deliberately, though it was a struggle to do so. “Are you done?”

Loki’s eyes flickered with something, but then he took a step back, arrogant smile back in place. “Do you dream of me? Is that why you sleep so poorly?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Clint said shortly. “I’m a light sleeper.” Clint leaned back against the kitchen counter with deliberate nonchalance. “And I take naps.”

“Not during the day, I hope. You will make yourself sluggish that way.” Loki was giving him a strange look, but after a moment seemed to decide against whatever he was considering and retreated back to his couch. “I’m curious, Barton. Have you considered the long term viability of this arrangement?”

“Have you?” Clint asked. Loki laughed again, though there was something a little off about it.

“Once or twice. The difference, however, is that I do not have a life which you are disrupting.” Loki smiled thinly. “You do. What are you going to do when your spider wishes to visit you? Or other friends of yours?”

“Lock you in a closet, probably,” Clint said, only half insincere. Loki gave him a sharp look, and Clint threw him a dazzling smile. “Just for a couple hours, don’t worry. Maybe I’ll even give you a bottle of water too. Unless I forget.”

Loki’s jaw clenched for a moment, and then relaxed. “The only one you’re going to make miserable is yourself,” he said. Clint raised his eyebrows.

“Really? Cause you seem pretty miserable to me. And that’s actually making me less miserable, so I don’t know. Maybe it evens out.” For a moment he thought Loki would lash out at him, as he hadn’t in a few days, but then the moment passed and Loki glanced away from him, his body held tense and stiff. Clint tapped his foot against the floor. “If this is so important to you, why don’t you just, you know, off yourself? I’m pretty sure no one would have a problem with that.”

Loki’s shoulders twitched visibly, and Clint felt a stab of something uncomfortable under his ribs. He pushed it away hastily, not liking the way it felt almost like guilt. “I daresay that is none of your business.”

“I daresay,” Clint mimicked, “that it is. Since I’m the one you tried to use for your suicide play in the first place, and I’m the one who has to put up with you until you decide to find someone else.” He stared at Loki’s shoulders, the way they crept up another notch. “Is it a spite thing? I mean, are you hoping if you get yourself killed maybe everyone will feel bad about how they didn’t kneel to you right away? Or do you just not have the guts-”

“Silence.” Loki’s voice vibrated. Clint laughed, gratingly.

“What,” he said, “Did I hit a nerve? I’m just saying, if you’re too much of a coward to end your own pathetic life then maybe-”

“I _cannot._ ” Loki’s voice cracked like a whip, the tone of it taking Clint off guard. He started, and then quickly tried to cover it.

“What’s that supposed to-”

Loki jerked to his feet and Clint shifted unconsciously into a defensive position at the sharp suddenness of it. “It means I cannot. It is part of my – _punishment._ ” The sudden, rank hatred in Loki’s voice took Clint aback, and for a moment struck him speechless. “ _Loki Laufeyson is to be rendered mortal._ ” His tone was unmistakably mimicking someone else, and the hair on Clint’s neck stood up at the strangeness of a voice very different from Loki’s (but precisely imitated) from Loki’s lips. “ _He will live out a mortal’s years on the mortals’ realm. In order that this sentence not be cut short, he will be unable to find death at his own hand._ ” Loki made a sound in the back of his throat like a cough. “So it is not a lack of, as you so charmingly put it – _guts_ – but a lack of ability.But I have always been very good at finding loopholes.”

Clint’s stomach squirmed strangely. He could see Loki almost vibrating from where he was still leaning against the counter, and the first word that popped into his head was _pathetic,_ but it was touched with something unnervingly close to pity, and he choked on that. Didn’t want it.

“Every being always has one choice left to it,” Loki said, after a long moment of silence. His voice was almost quiet, strangely. “To live or to die. I have not even been left that.”

The pity evaporated. “You wouldn’t have left me that choice,” Clint said without inflection. “When you took over my head. You wouldn’t have let me choose.”

Loki turned, his mouth set in a line. “That is not-”

“The same? Why not?” Clint asked. “Because it’s me? Because I’m human? Cause hey, look, now you are too. How about that.”

Loki’s lips peeled back from his teeth. “You’re an insolent brat.” Clint shrugged.

“Heard that one before. You know, if I believed in karma, this would look a lot like karma. And actually – you’re still coming out ahead. You can always leave.” He saw Loki twitch again, and leaned forward. “Unless you’re scared, of course. What is it you’re scared of out there, huh?”

“I’ll rip you apart,” Loki said, with deadly promise. Clint stretched.

“Go ahead and try. I bet those stitches are still stinging, huh?” He turned his back in a deliberate show of carelessness, even if hair prickled on the back of his neck. “You know, I’m feeling loads better now. Think I might go back to sleep for a couple hours.”

“Don’t ignore me,” Loki hissed. Clint threw a smirk over his shoulder.

“Good talk, Loki,” he said easily. “G’night. Sleep tight.” He wished he could record the sound of Loki’s teeth grinding. It’d make a nice thing to listen to while he was trying to sleep.

* * *

He dragged himself home from another skirmish – this time dealing with some new group of weirdos calling themselves the Sinister Six – and found Loki reading a John LeCarre thriller on his couch.

“Is that what you do all day?” he asked bitingly. “Read airport novels?”

“It’s not as though you have a great deal of literature to choose from.” Loki raised his eyes from the book, and then raised his eyebrows. “Don’t you look a mess.”

“You should take up baking,” Clint snapped. “Make me cookies, or something. Clean up around here. If you’re going to play housewife-”

Loki closed the book. He looked thin, Clint noticed. A little pale, maybe. Hard to tell, with the shade of dead that was his usual skintone. “If the word ‘housewife’ crosses your lips again with reference to me, I will choose to attempt to divine the workings of your coffee machine next time you are out, and enterprise that will unfortunately end with your device in pieces on the floor.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a passive aggressive little bitch?” He rolled his shoulders, trying to work out the ache in his left.

“Perhaps not in those exact terms, no.” Loki leaned back on the couch and picked up his book again. Clint’s skin was prickling, and the more he looked at Loki the worse it got.

“Seriously,” he said, after a moment. “Do you just sit here, all day? Doing _nothing?_ ”

“Sometimes I contemplate the mysteries of the universe,” Loki said placidly, his voice flat and droll. Clint felt a flash of irritation.

“Must be a comedown,” he said. “From having entire worlds at your fingertips, going wherever you please, whenever you please…” he saw Loki tense, minutely, and felt a flash of satisfaction.

“I am touched by your concern,” he said, without emotion, and then glanced up again, one eyebrow arched. “Can you wash before subjecting me to your feeble attempts at verbal sparring? You smell appalling.”

“What, did I hit a nerve?” Clint pressed. “Sorry about that. People tell me I lack sensitivity.” Loki looked down at the book in his hands and slowly set it aside and turned his gaze, equally slowly, to meet Clint’s. It was perfectly expressionless, enough to make his skin crawl.

“Are you done?”

“Done with what?”

“Attempting to expurgate your own feelings of worthlessness by using me as a proxy.” Loki’s mouth tipped up at one corner. “That is what you’re doing, isn’t it? At a guess…I expect the fighting went poorly for you today. You found yourself more hindrance than help. And now you are thinking, perhaps – _did they take me on out of pity?_ ” Loki’s gaze was perfectly dispassionate. “The answer is probably yes.”

Clint’s heart did a funny twist in his chest, and he hated the way he thought frantically _he knows, how does he know, he’s still in my head._ He twisted his expression into a sneer. “I’m pretty sure I just like watching you squirm.”

“Mm.” Loki sounded distinctly amused, and Clint’s skin prickled. “You are right, though. I am bored.”

Clint waited. When nothing more was forthcoming, he said, “Are you expecting me to do something about that?”

Loki shifted to sprawl across most of the couch, his gaze still flat and reptilian. “When I get bored, hawkling, I tend to get…restless.”

“You telling me that I need to take you for walkies or you’ll tear up my apartment like a dog with separation anxiety?” He watched Loki stiffen before he added, “nah. I don’t think so. Thanks for letting me know, though, I’ll just have to start locking you in the closet.”

Loki’s stare went still flatter, if that was possible. “If you think I will tolerate-”

“I don’t think you’ll tolerate anything,” Clint said placidly. “I just don’t think it matters whether you do or not.”

Loki’s teeth flashed. “I could kill you in your sleep.”

“So I should just leave you there at all times, then, is what you’re telling me.” Even as he said it, though, Clint felt ugly, and his stomach twisted uneasily. He pushed that down too. Loki’s jaw locked and Clint saw rage flash through his eyes before it was wiped hurriedly away.

“I’m _telling_ you,” Loki said, his voice tight, “that I am going out. Tonight.”

Clint stared at him, incredulous. “You’re joking,” he blurted out, before he thought better of it. Loki looked very faintly annoyed.

“No,” Loki said. “I am not.” He rolled his shoulders back. “I have spent long enough cowering within your walls. I am not going to make it an eternity.”

Narrowing his eyes, Clint said, “I thought that was kind of the point. Cowering within my walls, I mean, cause something’s got you too scared to try your luck on your own.”

Loki gave him a thoroughly disdainful look. “Living on my own is hardly the same thing as spending a few hours outside. I judged it prudent to wait a time.”

“Nothing to do with the fact that I accused you of being a coward,” Clint said. Loki’s eyes, if possible, went even colder and flatter.

“You overestimate the degree to which I care about your petty insults,” Loki said, voice just faintly acidic. “I am restless. At the very least, a chance to stretch my legs and get out of this hovel would be welcome.”

Thoroughly thrown, Clint stared a little more, not quite sure how to react to this sudden announcement. On the one hand, he could always just lock the door after Loki took off and not let him back in, but he somehow doubted that would work. He half wondered if Loki had brought this up just to see what he would do. “What about the whole thing where when you’re inevitably recognized-”

“You think I will be?” Loki snorted. “I doubt it. As I am now…” His mouth twisted, slightly, but his eyes remained hard, set. Clint felt the muscle in his jaw twitching. It didn’t feel _safe,_ letting Loki out…there. Who the hell knew what would happen? Even without his powers – maybe especially without his powers – Loki was a loose cannon. Loki, who was watching him, Clint realized, eyebrows slightly raised. “Rejoice,” he said, after a moment’s pause. “You have some time to yourself. I should think you’d be pleased.”

“I’d be more pleased if you went and died in a landfill,” Clint said, flatly.

“I’m sure you would.” Loki unfolded from the couch, and stretched. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some preparations to see to.”

If Loki went out there and civilians died, that was on Clint’s head. Loki was still a trained fighter, if not a superhuman one, and if he got in a brawl things could get ugly fast. He didn’t give two fucks if Loki got his nose – or neck – broken, but if some dumb kid did for trying to pickpocket the wrong person…

He could just knock Loki out and start locking the doors. Clint had a feeling that wouldn’t work either, and would probably just make the situation worse.

_Shit._

“You’re not going alone,” he said, harshly.

Loki’s head turned slowly, his eyebrows arched. “Beg pardon?”

“You heard me,” Clint ground out, unwilling to repeat the words. “I’m not going to be responsible for you wandering around without a babysitter. If you’re going out on the town, it’s going to be with supervision.”

Loki’s eyebrows climbed impossibly higher. “I always knew you were a masochist,” Loki murmured, after a moment’s silence. Clint kept himself from twitching and maintained deliberate impassiveness. “But it seems I underestimated how much. Concerned about my well being, Barton?”

“Not yours,” Clint snapped, “just everyone else. And if you start causing trouble-”

“You will inflict painful violence upon my person,” Loki drawled. “Yes, yes. You _are_ getting repetitive, were you aware? You might want to come up with a new repertoire.”

“When the old one’s still good?” Clint said, without inflection, and Loki laughed as he turned and sauntered off. Clint wondered why he hadn’t carried through on the threat of tying the bastard up and locking him in a closet, but he was starting to think that he really ought to get around to it.

* * *

Clint had no idea where Loki had found the clothes he was wearing, and perhaps more than the fact of their existence the fact itself of Loki wearing black skinny jeans and a black vest over something only a couple notches above a t-shirt, hair pulled back in a ponytail that, of course, worked on _him._ Strolling down the sidewalk with his hands tucked in his pockets, _Loki_ was getting second looks, and not the ‘run from the megalomaniacal crazy’ kind. The world wasn’t fair.

“So,” Clint ground out, after they’d been walking for ten minutes, “what exactly is it you were itching to do?”

“If you are bored, Barton,” Loki said, smooth as anything, “you are welcome to go back to your den and sulk about the fact that you have brought this on yourself.”

“Brought this on mysel-” Clint cut off and imagined putting a knife right between Loki’s shoulder-blades. Better than an arrow. That way he could actually feel the bastard twitch. Ten seconds, and this could be over. “Right. Because this fucked situation is _my_ fault.”

“You know perfectly well how to get out of it,” Loki said, pleasantly, and Clint wondered when it was going to stop making his skin crawl how casually he threw that out there. He didn’t say anything, and a moment later Loki added, “I had no particular aims. Did you have some notion?”

“Are you asking me what I want to do?” Clint asked. Loki seemed faintly amused. In general, Clint noted, in a better mood than he had at any other point. Maybe this ‘outside’ thing hadn’t been a terrible idea. If it was going to make Loki more tolerable company…

If anything could.

“More curiosity – what _do_ you do with yourself when you are not pretending to be useful?”

Clint gritted his teeth and kept himself from saying _I am useful._ “None of your business is what I do with myself.” Loki’s mouth tipped up at the corners, and Clint’s temper itched again. “I need a drink,” he muttered, not intending it to be audible.

“Somehow I am not surprised,” Loki murmured, “Though if you get yourself excessively drunk I shall hold your head underwater until you recover.”

Clint shot him a look. “I am not going into a bar with you.”

“So I am simply going to wander into one alone?” Loki said, with entirely unconvincing innocence, and _damn._ Clint reminded himself firmly that his reasons for not killing the bastard in the first place still held good, and killing him just because he was an annoying little shit would probably compromise his integrity, or something.

“I’ll just stand here and laugh when you inevitably get the stuffing kicked out of you,” Clint said flatly. Loki’s eyebrows lifted, and then he turned, hands still in pockets, and nodded across the street.

“That one looks likely, doesn’t it?” he said, and Clint looked to find the diviest looking bar he’d seen in New York, racuous noise emanating from within. “Yes,” Loki said, after a pause, “I think that’ll do quite nicely,” and started across the street.

Clint’s hand snapped out to grab his arm before he thought better of it with a sharp, “Wait.” Loki’s head turned slowly to regard him like he was considering an insect, and Clint fought his way through the urge to let go to tighten his hand instead. “Not there.” He didn’t want to make it _easy,_ but even as he said it he knew he’d made the wrong call in saying anything.

“Well,” Loki said, a grin blooming on his face of pure, wicked glee. “Now I can hardly go anywhere else, can I? Come, Barton. Or are you going to knock me over the head and drag me away in public? Of course, there’s always the option of leaving me to my own devices…”

_Just go,_ Clint told himself. _Get out now, go home, what are you going to do anyway, watch a fucking movie and savor the time when you don’t have to deal with this fucking asshole._ That would be admitting a defeat of a different kind, though. There was just _no way_ to win, Clint decided, and gritted his teeth and started across the street, letting go of Loki’s arm with a little shove. Loki caught up with him in two strides, though, his mouth twitching with obvious amusement. Clint didn’t say anything.

Loki waltzed right in the front door – past the enormous bouncer – without so much as a blink. With a smile that was so charming that _Clint_ was almost distracted, to boot. Almost. The inside was just as divey as the outside, the crowd just as loud and drunk, and the entire place stank like cheap beer and sweat. Even for Clint it was low.

Loki strolled up to the bar and ordered a cocktail that he had to explain to the somewhat befuddled looking bartender, perching himself on one of the stools with perfect nonchalance as heads turned to eye him warily. Clint took a moment to scope out exits, out of habit, set his shoulders, and followed his problem.

“Just a beer,” he said to the bartender. “Whatever’s on tap, um…IPA?”

“He’s with me,” Loki said, with a slender smile, and the bartender looked from Loki to Clint and back again as Clint kept his face stony.

“Right,” the man said, after a moment, and then moved off. Clint turned his head to look coldly at Loki, who seemed to be absorbed in one of the TVs. He considered bringing it up, and gave up on the idea, though he had a nasty feeling if Loki got bored he would just pick a fight, and with a crowd like this, it wouldn’t be hard.

The bartender brought their drinks back and plunked them down. Loki scrutinized his glass, wrinkled his nose, and then allowed a grudging, “acceptable,” and took a sip. The bartender stood there, waiting, and after a moment Loki glanced at him again. “—oh! I thought it was clear. My…friend is paying for me.” The smile Loki gave Clint was sickeningly sweet, and Clint gritted his teeth.

Refusing to pay would start a scene, probably, and attract more attention to them.

He was going to leave Loki in the bathtub _with water in it_ for this. For a few days. He’d survive. Probably.

Clint paid for both drinks, trying to keep his simmering temper just that – simmering.

That lasted up until some guy bumped into his elbow as he was taking a sip and Clint’s beer sloshed all over his shirt. “Watch it!” he snapped, before looking over. The guy was maybe a head taller than Clint, probably twice his weight, arms covered in tattoos so thick Clint couldn’t tell what they were supposed to be of _._

“Problem?” Tattoos growled, and Clint tensed. He could probably take the guy, but he didn’t really _want_ to. Too much trouble, and he didn’t really want to stir up that much of a commotion, no matter how much he might be itching with temper. It wasn’t worth it.

“No,” he started to say, at the same time that Loki said, “I believe he expressed a certain concern for your coordination.”

Tattoos’ eyes snapped to Loki, and Clint swore internally. “I wasn’t asking you.”

“No,” Loki said pleasantly, before Clint could flip him the bird and figure out a way to drag Loki out before things got worse. “But personally, I think he was being generous. Of course, I don’t have much tolerance with oafish thugs with a brain smaller than their fist.”

Well, Tattoos wasn’t looking at him anymore. On the other hand, he stepped around Clint to stare at Loki’s back, nostrils flaring and hands clenched into fists. “Do you want to repeat that?” Clint was trying to rapidly consider his options, and not coming up with a whole lot of them that didn’t end ugly. 

“Would you like me to? I certainly can, if you didn’t follow the first time.” Loki turned his head and glanced at Clint, eyebrows raised. “I hope you are not a regular here, darling,” he murmured, almost a drawl. “The clientele is appallingly plebeian.” Ah, _great._ Clint almost heard Tattoos inflate with rage.

“That right? Why don’t you and your fairy boyfriend suck my _dick!_ ” Tattoos said, and Clint didn’t quite duck out of the way fast enough to miss the shove that knocked him off his stool and onto the floor. He was on his feet again in a moment, but so was Loki, holding his drink in one hand, still smiling. Clint’s blood went a little cold, though, at the sudden cold in Loki’s eyes.

“I don’t think I like your tone,” Loki said, still pleasantly mild. “And besides…I very much doubt you could satisfy me.” Loki took a delicate sip of his drink in the perfect silence that followed, and then cast Tattoos a patronizing smile.

_Oh,_ Clint thought bleakly, suddenly frozen. _Shit. Clint, you dumbass, should never have…just leave, the bastard can get the shit kicked out of him perfectly fine without you and it’ll be good riddance-_

Tattoos’ eyes bugged. “You,” he sputtered and then swung a punch for Loki’s face.

He moved fast. _Damn,_ he moved fast, slid out of the way of the punch and Clint didn’t catch the move but it ended with Tattoos up against the bar with his arm twisted up behind his back. Loki’s expression was…bored, and Clint glanced toward the door. There were too many people between him and it. “Is this how you charm the women in your life?” he asked. “If so, you must pass on my sincere apologies.”  Tattoos groaned and squirmed, and Loki released his arm and stepped back. “If you don’t mind-”

Clint saw the move and began to intercept it on instinct as Tattoos rolled over and lunged. Loki was faster. He caught the man’s shoulder and the elbow of the arm going for his throat. Clint realized what was going to happen a moment before it did, and then Loki made a sharp motion with his body and Clint would’ve sworn he felt the snap of bone in his teeth.

Tattoos went down howling as Clint jerked to his feet, heart kicking into overdrive. Loki’s expression hadn’t shifted, still the same disdainful, slightly bored look, and the entire bar had frozen and was staring at him.

“Door,” Clint hissed, and Loki smoothed his shirt. He inclined his head slightly to the gawking bartender, and turned to stride gracefully toward the door, people just kind of slipping out of the way as he went. Clint trailed after him, trying to keep his head down, tense and on edge, but then they were out in fresh air. Clint let them keep walking for a couple blocks before he turned on Loki.

“What the _hell_ was that?”

Loki looked faintly startled. “Beg pardon?”

“Beg – you just _broke_ a guy’s arm,” Clint hissed. Loki’s eyebrows rose, and Clint wanted to hit him in the face. And then realized there was no reason not to, and hauled back and just _punched_ him full in the face.

Loki’s head snapped back and he  stumbled back, his expression completely astonished, and Clint felt a surge of satisfaction that didn’t quite overwhelm his anger. Loki stared at him wide-eyed for a moment, and then his expression flashed to fury and he took a step forward. “How _dare-_ ”

“You could have gotten out of that without hurting anyone,” Clint snapped. “And you definitely didn’t need to break any bones. You went in there _looking_ for a fight, and you dragged _me_ with you. And if you do again I’ll let the police drag you out, and how long do you think it would take SHIELD to find you from there, huh?”

Loki stared at him, his expression spasming. “On Asgard,” he said, after a moment, and there was a note of genuine uncertainty in his voice, “to say nothing would make a target, and not to defend myself with adequate force…”

Clint felt his shoulders lock tight. “Yeah, well, there’s no magical healing here, remember?” He gave Loki’s abdomen a pointed look. “So your _adequate force_ just put some guy in a cast for six months because he was dumb and drunk. And in case you _forgot,_ you’re not _on_ Asgard any more, and you’re not _going_ to be again. So get used to it, and get used to playing by the fucking rules, or it’s not going to matter what _I_ do cause you’ll fuck yourself over just fine. On second thought, maybe just keep doing whatever the hell you want. It’ll save me the trouble.” Clint turned on his heel and started stalking back down the street, vibrating with tension.

“Where are you going?” Loki asked, his voice sharp.

“Home,” Clint snapped, without looking back. “If you keep talking to me, the next punch is going for your nose.”

He waited three blocks before looking back, still breathing hard. Loki wasn’t behind him. _Fine with me,_ Clint thought savagely, and shoved his hands in his pockets, glaring down at the sidewalk. Maybe if the world was merciful, he’d go find someone _else_ to fulfill his death wish. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so happy about the response to this fic. By which I mean that I'm so happy that people like it, because this fic is one of my favorite things that I'm writing right now. It's kind of my happy place, and by that I mean it's my place where no one is happy except for me. 
> 
> I'm trying to get better about responding to comments on things! and overcoming my anxiety about sounding like a total weirdo, but if I don't get around to yours - know that I appreciate all the nice things/thoughts everybody says, and I make stupidly happy faces over every comment. 
> 
> Also, I know where this fic is going now, which is new and exciting. :D
> 
> With thanks, as always, to [my ever loyal beta](http://zaataronpita.tumblr.com), the best hawkling a girl could ask for.

Loki wasn’t back by the time Clint calmed down enough to go to sleep, though he locked the bedroom door just in case. He wasn’t back in the morning, either, when Clint dragged himself out of bed and made himself breakfast.

He finished his eggs and sat back, his apartment seeming bizarrely quiet all of a sudden. Clint glanced at the door and felt the smallest prickle of unease that he hastily quashed. Loki could have gotten up to anything, he reminded himself. He shouldn’t have stormed off, left him unsupervised, who the hell knew what kind of trouble he was going to cause?

(Clint stubbornly ignored the small voice that remarked that Loki was worried about _something_ out there, as that sounded altogether too much like worry _for_ the bastard as opposed to worry about what he might do. One of those was acceptable, the other one decidedly not.)

It was for the latter reason that Clint caught himself sighing with relief when the door opened around eleven and Loki slipped inside almost silently. Clint looked up from the book he was reading and raised his eyebrows, adopting deliberate nonchalance.

“Out late?” he said, taking the opportunity to look him over, but if he looked a bit mussed there were no signs of bloodstains or anything else that would indicate trouble. Loki glanced at him very briefly, his gaze almost flat, and then glanced away and simply paced silently across Clint’s floor to the kitchen, where he snagged an orange from the fruit basket without a word.

Clint shifted, finding himself unnerved by the silence. “I was starting to think you might’ve gotten yourself arrested.”

Loki peeled the orange in one smooth spiral and threw it away, beginning to separate the orange into sections in precise, neat movements. He didn’t so much as glance at Clint. Clint tapped his fingers against the page of his book and stared at his shoulders, eyes narrowing.

“If giving me the silent treatment is supposed to bother me, you’re really going in the wrong direction,” he said, after a moment, and Loki did glance over, finally, his face utterly expressionless.

“I am not,” he said, with decided coolness. “There is simply nothing to discuss, and I should not wish to waste your valuable time.” He finished separating the orange, and began to eat one of the slices. Clint narrowed his eyes a little further, and after a moment gave up.

“Suit yourself,” he said, almost with relief, and settled back on the couch. “I’m not complaining.”

“I didn’t expect that you would,” Loki said tersely. He strode over to the table and sat down. Clint watched out of the corner of his eye, but he couldn’t see anything off about the way he moved. It occurred to him briefly that that might say more about Loki’s ability to not react to pain, and then it occurred to him to wonder why he was so concerned about it in the first place.

He turned the volume up on the TV and looked pointedly away from the kitchen table, wondering how long it would take Loki to get bored with sulking and get back to his usual.

* * *

So it turned out that living with a surly, uncommunicative ex-god who was only offering the bare minimum in terms of communication was worse than living with a surly, overly mouthy ex-god prone to talking too much. It just meant that Clint was constantly on edge in a new and exciting way.

He dealt with it mostly by staying in his room as much as possible and aggressively ignoring Loki whenever he needed to be in the same room, but it was pretty damn hard to ignore someone when you were stuck in close quarters with them.

He was almost _relieved_ when he got called out on some longer-duration Avengers business.

“I’m going to be out for a few days,” he said, tersely, dropping his duffel bag on the floor. Loki didn’t look up from the book he was reading and didn’t so much as make a sound of acknowledgment. Clint pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes. “If you break anything I’m going to knock you out and drop you in New York Harbor. Same goes for talking to my neighbors. Or really doing anything.”

“Am I permitted to feed myself?” Loki’s voice was acidic, and he still didn’t raise his head. Clint stared at him, half wanting to ask what his problem was.

“Unless you’re inclined to starve yourself, which, be my guest. There should be enough in the fridge to last.” Not very much, but that was Loki’s problem, not his. Loki didn’t respond, and Clint felt a twinge of annoyance. “Got it?”

“If I thought it was unclear, I would have said so.” Loki turned a page, and Clint stared at him for a long moment, and then turned on his heel, picking up his bag, and stalked out the door, closing it firmly behind him.

He fumed all the way down the hallway and down all four flights of stairs, and only once he was out on the street did he take a deep breath and let it out, feeling the tension ooze out of him at the same time, followed by a glorious sensation of freedom.

Sure, he might be going on a dangerous mission that probably wouldn’t go as planned and might well end in serious bodily harm, but at least for three or four days he wouldn’t have to deal with the Loki Problem at all. For three or four days, he could breathe and not think about-

“You’re already ready?” Someone said just behind him. Clint spun around and swore. Natasha arched an eyebrow at him. “Little jumpy there, Barton.”

“You snuck up on me,” he accused. “And yeah, I’m ready. You sound surprised.”

“You’re not usually early.” She glanced at his duffel bag. “In a hurry to get out of your apartment?” Something in the tone of her voice made Clint suddenly certain that she was not just asking, and he had a sudden mental image of Natasha slipping into his apartment without knocking and running smack into Loki sitting on his couch and wouldn’t _that_ be fantastic.

Well, maybe it would solve his immediate problem, but Clint was guessing it would also land him with a whole bunch of new ones.

“Just trying to be unpredictable,” he said with a shit-eating grin. Natasha just looked at him, apparently unimpressed.

“Unpredictable. I see.” She eyed him, a moment, and then breathed out through her nose. “Is something going on?”

“You already asked me that once this week,” Clint said blandly. Nat just gave him a look, and after a moment, he added, “Nothing’s going on, Tasha. And if you’re going to start fussing over me you’re going to have to at least bring me chicken noodle soup. I’m not going to take it, otherwise.”

“If I ever do bring you chicken noodle soup, don’t eat it,” she deadpanned. “For all kinds of reasons. So are you going to tell me why you’ve been holed up in your apartment avoiding human company outside of work, or do I have to keep guessing?”

Clint considered for the umpteenth time just telling her the truth. _Y’see, Nat, Loki got humanified by his daddy and came running to me thinking I’d kill him, which I almost did, but then didn’t to spite him and also because he threatened you, and basically he’s been crashing at my apartment and I haven’t really been into the idea of leaving him completely unsupervised for long periods of time, which, we’ll see how it goes this time. But I’m not brainwashed, I swear._

Clint pulled a face. “It’s not…I’ve just been dogsitting for one of my neighbors. I figured Stark would give me shit over it and I didn’t think it was a big deal, so…”

Natasha’s expression was powerfully skeptical. “You were dogsitting,” she said.

“Yep,” Clint said, and summoned a slightly rueful smile. “Poodle mix. Little beast, but I felt bad saying no.” Natasha leveled that stare on him that would have shaken a lesser man. Or maybe just one less familiar with her expressions.

Either she decided he was telling the truth, though, or that it wasn’t worth trying to pry it out of him, because she shook her head and sighed. “Mmm. I see. Are you done now, then?”

“Yep,” Clint said, and grinned at her. “All’s well in fancy Chez Barton, though I’m still getting the pee smell out of the rug.” She grimaced with a very slight roll of her eyes, but the corner of her mouth ticked up a little too.

“I guess that explains why you bugged out so promptly,” she said, a little dryly, and he just shrugged, privately relieved. Even if…he was going to have to figure out how this was going to work eventually.

If he put Loki in a closet and told him to be very quiet, maybe, but the thought of trying to spend a nice evening and/or night with Natasha knowing that Loki was there…yeah, that sounded like fun. Totally unlikely to end in disaster.

_I’ll figure it out later._ “So,” he said, with what he thought was a pretty good impression of cheerfulness. “You excited? This is the closest thing we get to a vacation all year.”

“Unbearably excited,” Natasha said, but he caught a fraction of a smile. So he was counting that one as a win.

* * *

Apparently Clint had finally earned some good karmic juju, because for once one of their missions went according to plan and wound up with the lot of them, pretty much unscathed, eating at a fantastic Vietnamese place. Thor liked spicy food, it turned out. It was actually…nice. Good to spend time with these people that he liked pretty well. Good to not have to spend time with Tall, Dark, Crazy and Suicidal. Either way you looked at it.

He was almost in a good mood, if tired, by the time he made it back to New York. He’d almost managed to forget that his brief respite was over. Almost.

Not quite, though, and if it had been hovering over his head at a manageable distance for the duration of the mission, it came crashing back down the minute the Quinjet landed. Clint considered just staying at the tower and avoiding dealing with it at all. Hell, maybe he’d be lucky and the bastard would have taken off. The last four days had gone well for him so far.

The only thing that really kept him from taking that road was the fact that it felt a little too much like defeat, and Clint wasn’t quite prepared to let Loki chase him out of his own goddamn home.

Yet. Give it a few more weeks.

He still waited until everyone else started to wind down and Natasha had already retreated to excuse himself. Clint caught the subway back to his apartment, stomach starting to churn nervously. If Loki had seriously fucked something up while he was gone, what was he going to do about it? Throwing around threats was great, but…he should have found out more about the failsafe that threatened Natasha. If he could just figure out how to get rid of that it would be fine and he could turn Loki over to SHIELD, to the police, whatever.

_But you haven’t,_ a pragmatic voice in the back of his mind reminded him as he ascended the stairs to his floor. The building was still standing, anyway, and there was no obvious sign of any trouble. _And until you do, what ifs aren’t going to get you anywhere._

He took a deep breath outside of his door (innocuously closed though he could see a light under the door) and after a moment opened it, bracing himself.

Clint blinked. Things didn’t look…terrible. If anything, his apartment looked cleaner than he remembered. He took a slow step inside, checking for dismantled electronics or…something, who the hell knew what a bored Loki would come up with, but everything looked…fairly intact.

Loki was sitting on the couch, eyes on the TV (which – that was a little surreal), back ramrod straight. He didn’t even glance in Clint’s direction, not even when he closed the door just a little too loudly.

Well, fine, Clint thought, a little peevishly. Loki could sulk as long as he goddamn well wanted to. No skin off his nose. He paced into the kitchen and filled a glass of water from tap, drank it in one gulp, and filled another one. He heard a noise and glanced over to find that Loki was looking at him, though the moment Clint glanced his way his gaze returned to the screen, which was playing what appeared to be some kind of nature documentary.

“Welcome back,” Loki said neutrally. Clint looked at him, almost surprised. It was the first conversation Loki had initiated since the night at the bar.

“Oh,” he said, “Are we done with the silent treatment now?” Loki didn’t turn his head, but Clint thought he saw his mouth tighten. “Cause I was just starting to enjoy it.”

“A pity for you, then.” Loki’s voice was almost devoid of inflection, and it made Clint twitchy.

“Glad you sympathize.” Clint shifted, and took a sip of water.

“I followed your exploits on the – news, is it?” Loki’s eyes stayed fixed on the screen, and Clint really doubted that frogs or whatever were that riveting, no matter how hard Loki was pretending they were. Still, it gave him a weird feeling on the back of his neck, knowing that – no matter how far away – Loki had been watching him. Observing.

Clint sneered. “Did you have fun?” 

“No.” Loki’s voice was flat. “You did not leave sufficient foodstuffs, as I suspect you knew. Not approaching the fact that spending four days alone in your near squalor is like to drive me mad.”

“You weren’t already?” Clint said. Loki cast him a brief and thoroughly scathing look.

“I did not think it possible for your wit to become less refined, and yet it seems to have nonetheless.” There was a slightly odd note to Loki’s voice, Clint thought, but he couldn’t pin down what it was, and dismissed his curiosity about it a moment later. There was no real point to trying to puzzle out what was going on in Loki’s head.

“I’m not really trying,” he said, and set the glass in the sink. He turned to the fridge and opened it; it was, indeed, basically empty, and Clint felt a small twinge of guilt that he crushed ruthlessly. Loki could fend for himself just fine. “Not really a point, is there?”

Loki said nothing, but Clint thought he heard him exhale quietly, like someone trying to hold in his temper. He turned, pasting on a grin. “So you haven’t changed your mind about just hanging around, huh?”

“I believe I made my terms clear,” Loki said, still without inflection, and Clint was getting really tired of that neutrality. He wanted a reaction. Needed one; if he was going to have to deal with the feeling like bugs crawling under his skin every time he was in the same room with Loki, Loki was damn well going to suffer too. He shifted, tapping his fingers loudly on the counter.

“If I punch you again will you shut up for another week?”

“If you strike me again I will break your wrist,” Loki said, without shifting even an inch though his tone slid toward something strangely conversational. “Your left,” he added. “That is your dominant hand, isn’t it?” Clint felt his teeth click together and his left hand clenched reflexively, his stomach doing a nervous flip. The incident at the bar had reminded Clint forcibly of the fact that even a mortal Loki was still a trained fighter. He forced his nerves down. “You caught me off guard. It will not happen again.”

Clint made himself keep his posture relaxed. “You throw around a lot of threats for a guy who’s squatting in my – what did you call it? – _near squalor_.”

Loki barked a laugh that made the hairs on the back of Clint’s neck stand up. “Push me a little more, hawkling. I remind you that I have _very_ little to lose.” Clint’s skin crawled and he forced himself to stay calm even as his heart thudded anxiously.

“Just enough, apparently,” Clint said. “Since you haven’t done anything drastic yet. I mean, I figure you have the imagination to figure out all the things I could do to you if you _really_ made me mad.” His grin stretched and tightened, and he caught a slight twitch of Loki’s head that was deeply, viscerally satisfying. “So I figure you won’t take the risk just to throw a temper tantrum, am I right?”

Loki said nothing, though Clint caught a slight motion that might have been one of his hands clenching in his lap. “Are you going to trust yourself to the vagaries of _my_ temper?” he said, after a moment, with something more like the cockiness Clint associated with Loki’s worse moments. “If I am, after all, _insane._ ”

“Just not _that_ crazy, I guess.” Clint leaned back against the counter, casually. “So what else did you do with yourself when I was gone?”

Loki eyes didn’t so much as flick in Clint’s direction. “Very little, and less of interest. I read the majority of your library, other than the truly intolerable trash.” Clint glanced toward his shelf, but nothing seemed to be missing from there, either. “Are you quite done being irritating? I did not engage you in conversation because I _wished_ to hear you yammer on.”

“You sure?” Clint drummed his fingers on the counter. “You didn’t get _lonely?_ ”

“If I wished to enjoy interaction with other intelligent beings, Barton, I would not choose to stay with _you._ ” Loki’s voice had a touch of bite, and Clint was faintly relieved. That sounded more familiar, and after the weird silence, the sniping was almost reassuring.

“If my company’s so inferior, you’re free to go find someone else,” he said. “In fact – please do.”

“I am not here to be _entertained._ ” He sounded taut again, tense, and that was satisfying too. At least he wasn’t the only one in a bad mood. “And if you continue to speak to me I will see if _throttling_ you gains me some peace of one kind or another.”

“You ever think about offering to make yourself useful? Sometimes that works better than threats when you want someone to do something for you.” Clint rolled his shoulders back, forcing them down from his ears. “Do you have any useful skills, though? I mean, what are you really good for at this point?” He watched Loki’s jaw tighten and felt the same vicious and unpleasant satisfaction at getting to stab back.

“Do not _test_ me. I may decide that the risk is worth the price.” There was that weird note again, and Clint narrowed his eyes at Loki’s head.

“Honest question,” he said, after a moment, and watched Loki’s hand clench on the arm of the couch. He knew he probably should back off, but doing that now was like staring at a big, red _do not push_ button and not pushing it. He wanted to know what would happen. “I mean…other than the magic and the, uh, slightly dubious claim to royalty, what do you actually have?”

He watched Loki’s hands clench again, but this time when they released Loki made a strange rasping noise it took Clint a moment to recognize as a laugh. Bitter and harsh and Clint’s spine prickled uneasily. He caught himself taking a step back before he halted it. “Indeed,” Loki said, after a moment. “What do I have? Rage, hawkling. Rage and enough hatred to burn a world down, perhaps two, if I only had the means.” Loki turned his head at last, and looked at Clint, mouth stretched in a smile. “Is that answer enough?”

Clint stared at Loki. His skin looked slightly grey, his eyes had sunken back into deep circles, and now that he was looking there was a slight, consistent shake to his hands. For a moment, he could only just stare. He wouldn’t have hesitated to use ‘cadaverous’ to describe Loki before, but now it was almost too appropriate. “Holy shit,” Clint said, after a moment, fascinated disgust rendering him unable to look away. “Have you slept at all in the last week?”

“A bit longer than that.” Loki’s voice was dry, but it sounded considerably less nonchalant than Clint suspected it was supposed to. He looked away and leaned back, slightly. No wonder he was holding so still, Clint thought vaguely. Couldn’t be a lot of energy left for much.

“Sleep deprivation’s a really slow and unpleasant way to die,” Clint said, bluntly. “Have the hallucinations kicked in yet?”

Loki’s shoulders twitched, only barely visible. “Your concern is touching.”

“It’s not concern,” Clint said harshly. “You look like a walking corpse already. Although I guess that’s not much of a change.” He felt – strange, though, unquiet and uneasy, like he was supposed to do something. It just – _it’s normal,_ he told himself, _even if he’s…you’re not made out of stone._

“As I’m sure you know, death is hardly a great concern of mine.” What Clint had taken for a lack of inflection now sounded more like simple – dullness, like Loki was too exhausted to even try for tone. Clint’s stomach did something funny, and he wanted to snap something but all that came up was _yeah, well, I’m not really into watching you die slowly in my apartment_ or maybe _doesn’t that count as self-inflicted_ and neither of those seemed like good options. He planted his feet.

“What happens when you sleep, huh? I mean, sure, nightmares, but are you really that terrified of a few bad dreams?” His voice sounded perfectly callous, though for a moment it had felt like it might not come out that way. It wasn’t just Loki he had to watch; himself too, just as much. Loki’s dull eyes cut to him briefly before he looked away.

“Even were that question relevant, I am disinclined to-” Loki broke off. “—I shall manage.”

“Yeah,” Clint said. “Cause this is – managing. Uh huh. Right.” The look Loki gave him somehow still managed to be scathing, even out of that face. “Well. I’m going to sleep. Some of us just got back from saving the world and have things to do with our lives.” He pushed back from the counter and stood up. “Goodnight. If you pass out and give yourself a concussion, I’m going to laugh.”

He showered, changed, and crawled into bed, trying to push down the little nagging thread of worry. It was just out of habit, he thought. And it was downright pathetic, even with someone who deserved it that much. Still. Loki would keel over eventually; that was just facts. If he didn’t…well. Clint would figure that out if it came to it.

_He_ wasn’t going to lose sleep over it.

* * *

Clint woke up in the middle of the night to the kind of sound he tended to associate with slasher films. He flailed awake all at once, immediately awake and alert and on edge. He charged out of the room, a switchblade in hand, down the hall, and-

He stopped dead.

Loki was crammed into a corner of the couch, balled up smaller than Clint would have believed possible, and making that awful noise. It didn’t sound like he was stopping for air.

_Jesus Christ,_ Clint thought, forced himself out of his freeze, and strode over to grab Loki’s shoulder and give him a violent shake. “Hey,” he said harshly. “Hey, wake up.” Loki’s curled up tighter, barely moving with his shake, and still fucking – _keening._ His neighbors were going to think he was committing a felony. Clint tried again. “Wake _up,_ if you get me in trouble with my landlord-”

Nothing. _Fuck._ There wasn’t enough face visible to slap, and he didn’t think he could pry Loki out of his defensive curl enough to do a sternum rub. That left- _fuck fuck fuck._ If he didn’t do something soon, though-

_It’s not regressing. You’re still in control._

Clint dropped to his knees next to the couch. “Hey,” he said, lower this time, close to his ear. “Loki. It’s me. You’re fine, you’re – safe.” He choked on that a little. “It’s okay.” He took a deep breath. “It’s just a dream. You can wake up now.”

Loki came up hard, fast, and sudden, and with a wild swing for Clint’s face. He jumped back quickly, but the frantic attack had already been shoved down and Loki was just sitting there in a snarl of blankets, eyes wide and white all around the edges and breathing like he’d run a marathon. Clint stared at him, narrow-eyed.

“Guess you fell asleep,” he said, finally, on a monotone. Loki made a sound that was probably an attempt at a snarl. Weak one, though.

“I do not need-”

“I wasn’t doing you a favor,” Clint said bluntly. “You woke me up. You wake my neighbors up too, I get in trouble.”

“Fine,” Loki said. He turned his face away. “So much the better. It was a mistake. One I will not make again.”

“You will, though,” Clint said, implacably. “You’re human now, remember? Means you can’t get away with not sleeping. And there’s only so far you can fight your body before you don’t get any choice in the matter.” Loki’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t answer. “As you just found out.” Loki looked like he wanted to spit nails.

“You are enjoying this.”

Clint shrugged. “Not the part where I get woken up in the middle of the night. Sounds worse.”

“What sounds worse?” Loki snapped.

“The nightmares. Than the ones you were having before. Or did you think I’d forget about that?” The way Loki tensed suggested that he had. Or maybe that he’d hoped as much. Clint stayed where he was. “Well, I didn’t.”

“That is no longer any concern of yours. Unless you wish to attempt to soothe my dreams,” he added, with a barbed, unpleasant sort of smile.

“No,” Clint said bluntly. “I just want to get a good night’s sleep.”

“You will,” Loki said flatly. “Now leave me.”

“Nah.” Clint held his ground. “Is it worse? What’ve you got crawling around in your head that’s so _scary?_ ”

Loki’s mouth moved like he was trying not to snarl. “Oh, do you want to talk about bad _dreams,_ Clint Barton? Although I expect yours are pleasant. At least until you wake.” Clint felt himself coil tight.

“I’m not the one who came up screaming. So it is worse. Why, huh? Guilty conscience getting you?”

“Hardly.” Loki’s jaw was twitching with a tic, but Clint was more interested in the expression in his eyes, slightly wild and definitely fearful. “Surely you don’t think I intend to share my thoughts with you.”

Clint shrugged. “At least you’d know I’m not going to feel sorry for you.” He hardly knew why he said it. Loki just looked at him, expression flickering between things that Clint couldn’t quite read, and then glanced away.

“It is none of your concern.”

“I’m pretty goddamn aware of that.” Clint moved back from the couch. “Still. You woke me up. Is this something to do with why you’re so dead set on suicide by proxy?”

Loki’s mouth set in a line, but Clint noticed that he’d pulled his knees up to his chest, though he doubted Loki was aware. “Even if I were inclined to answer your questions, _hawkling,_ I fail entirely to see why it should matter to you.”

Clint shrugged. “I’m curious. Is there something out there after you?” He settled back on his heels and arranged his face into smooth disinterest. “You worried about what’s going to happen once your masters realize you fucked up and there’s no Asgardian line of defense?” He heard Loki’s breathing quicken, just slightly, and watched his shoulders twitch up, a small shiver running through his body. He expected to feel satisfaction but the main feeling he got was vague nausea. Clint made himself smile thinly. “Is that it?”

Loki’s head turned just enough for him to fix Clint with a baleful stare full of hate and something else. “Do not presume that you know or understand _anything_ of my life.”

“Thanks to _you_ I know more than I want to.” Clint left a flat stare on Loki, imagined his eyes boring through him. “I remember you didn’t like them much. The Chitauri. Never seemed too happy after your little chats with them, or whatever it was.”

Loki’s teeth flashed, his expression briefly feral. “They were a useful tool but hardly pleasant company. Much like yourself.” Clint grinned.

“Weak. You’ve said how _fond_ you were of me.” Just saying the words made his stomach clench, but he pushed forward. “And I don’t know. The more I think about it, the more I think it’s the other way around and you were _their_ tool. You don’t usually put your important leaders on the front lines.” He could see Loki’s body winding tight and wasn’t quite sure what the strange feeling buidling in his chest was. “Is that more how it worked? They gave you a little power, and you scurry around setting up their invasion, is that it?”

“Silence,” Loki snapped, uncoiling, his eyes hard. Clint raised his eyebrows.

“Hitting a little too close to home? So what now, huh? You got their whole army killed, you think they might be after some revenge?”

“Go back to sleep, Barton,” Loki said, voice almost humming with tension. “Much as I would love to discuss your bizarre theories-”

“Maybe that’s what I should be figuring out,” Clint said ruthlessly, making himself smile unpleasantly. “SHIELD probably has some tech that I could use to send some kind of intergalactic text message, _dear Chitauri, come and get your stray dog,_ how quick do you think they’d come round?” The color had drained from Loki’s face, and he looked even more deathly pale. For a moment, just a fragment of a second, Clint caught a look of sheer, stark terror in his slightly widened eyes, mingled panic and despair that cut his voice off, even the shreds of vindictive pleasure evaporating.

A moment later Loki’s face was swept clean, though, and he almost sounded steady when he said, “It might be preferable than sitting here and listening to your elaborate fantasies.”

He could push, Clint knew. It would be easy. A not small part of him wanted to, wanted to take that glimpse of terror and grind down on it, make Loki feel the fear that he’d lived with, woken up with, breathed and dreamed and wrestled against. Wanted Loki to feel powerless and helpless and utterly at the mercy of someone else.

He couldn’t. Not quite.

Clint shrugged. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, neutrally, suddenly just feeling awkward and petty. Loki glanced away from him, features tight.

“Are you quite done?” he asked sharply, after a few moments. “Or were you going to make more of a nuisance of yourself?” The effect of his haughty tone was somewhat diminished by the hoarse note to his voice. Probably from screaming.

Clint’s insides did something strange and twisty, and Clint pushed it down. It wasn’t pity. It _wasn’t._ Just leftover goddamn instincts from when Loki had stuck his fingers in Clint’s head and fucked with his brain. “Yeah,” Clint said. “I’m done.” He took a step back. “Are you going to pass out and start screaming again?”

Loki looked at him, eyes flat and dull again. “Concerned you might not get your rest, Barton? I don’t think I need remind you that there _is_ a solution to your problem and mine.”

“No thanks,” Clint said, and turned around. He paused, just a moment, then paced down the hallway and ducked into the bathroom. He pulled the orange bottle off the shelf behind the mirror and exited, tossed it on the couch. “Here.”

Loki stared at it, and then raised his eyebrows at Clint. “And this is…”

“Just take it,” Clint said, feeling his shoulders draw up. “I do want to sleep, and it didn’t sound like you were having a whole lot of fun, and I’m not going to off you just because you have a few nightmares. Or don’t take it, next time I’ll just gag you to muffle the noise. I don’t care.” He set his jaw, expecting some comment about why he had it. He was sure Loki’d put the pieces together.

He still wasn’t going to listen to that awful noise if he could avoid it, and that was just preservation of the few scraps of sanity he had left.

Loki didn’t say anything, though, just picked up the bottle and turned it in his fingers. It occurred to Clint, belatedly, to realize that Loki could just overdose, only then he remembered the suicide clause. He wondered if Loki didn’t _know_ if it would count, and wasn’t quite sure whether it was spite or something else that made him add, “Use two. More’n that and you’re going to have problems.” The look Loki shot him suggested that he heard the undertones of what Clint was saying, but he glanced away before Clint could identify the expression. He waited a moment longer, not sure what he was expecting, and then turned away. “I’m going back to bed.”

“Thank you,” Loki said, suddenly. The words sounded awkward, and Clint couldn’t keep himself from turning around and just…staring, for a second. Loki wasn’t looking at him – almost pointedly, Clint thought – and at least that let Clint give him an incredulous look without having to meet his eyes.

“It’s not for you,” Clint said, bluntly, after a moment. He thought he caught a tug at one corner of Loki’s mouth, though his face was in shadow.

“I am aware. Nonetheless, whatever else I am, I was raised a prince, and I believe it is customary to offer gratitude for…services rendered.” The silkiness of his voice was an approximation, but it still made Clint’s skin itch. “Whatever your reasoning, I appreciate your offer.”

Clint stared at him a moment longer, and then said, “If you really want to show your gratitude you can get out of my apartment and never come back.”

“You are so very droll, Barton,” Loki said. He sounded almost amused. Clint hunched his shoulders and started down the hall.

“Next time I wake you up by shoving your head in the sink,” he said, without looking back, and thought he heard a sound like an aborted chuckle, but he wouldn’t have sworn to it. He picked up his pace and closed the door to his bedroom a little too hard before Loki could get a reply in.

Clint lay awake for a while, listening, but he dropped off eventually. His dreams were vague and confused, a blend of killing Loki and kneeling at his feet, swearing anything and everything if only he’d just take him back. The former wasn’t as satisfying as he wanted it to be, and the latter still felt too real.

But he slept through the night, and when he dragged himself out of bed the next morning, for the first time he walked out to the kitchen and his housemate wasn’t awake, but was still curled up on the couch, one hand clutching the blanket, fast asleep and breathing slow and evenly. The orange bottle of pills was sitting, open, on the table.

Clint spent a few moments trying to figure out what his emotions were doing, gave up, and decided to eat breakfast out. There was something just a little too surreal about fucking _Loki_ sleeping like a kid on his shitty couch, and it was too early to try to figure it out. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The continuing adventures of that one fic where no one is happy except for possibly Lise, because she gets to write this thing. And she is enjoying herself, _oh boy is she._ (Sorry this update is so late! Big plans for the next chapter, though - once I get my gift fics written (hahahahah late) update for this will hopefully be following shortly behind.)
> 
> Hopefully.
> 
> With many thanks to my personal hawkling, [zaataronpita](http://zaataronpita.tumblr.com). She is about as well-behaved as Clint, but she does beta my fic. Everyone has flaws.

Loki woke up almost nineteen hours later while Clint was playing a stick figure assassin game for no particular reason. It was relatively anticlimactic; one minute he was curled up and fast asleep and the next his eyes were open and he was looking at Clint.

Clint stiffened, and dropped his eyes to the game, focusing on timing his shot just right. The target went down, unnoticed by his surrounding stick figure friends. Clint could feel himself tense, waiting.

“The time,” Loki said, eventually. His voice sounded strangely blurry, and when Clint glanced over he yawned widely, which was somehow a bizarre image.

“Nine-thirty,” Clint said, blandly. Loki looked slightly blank, so he added, “at night. You’ve been out the whole day.” Loki’s expression shifted toward something slightly disconcerted, and Clint glanced back to the screen so he wasn’t looking at his face. “I almost rolled you onto the floor just to see if you’d wake up.”

“It seems your mortal concoctions are…effective,” Loki said, after a few moments, voice admirably clear. Clint could almost be impressed, if it weren’t, well, Loki.

“Apparently so,” Clint said blandly. Loki frowned minutely, and then rolled to his back and stretched his arms over his head.  After a moment, he paused the game. “Feel free to keep them.” _I don’t need them,_ he almost said, but bit that back. It smelled a little like protesting too much.

“Hm,” Loki said noncommitally. Clint watched him for a moment longer, then shrugged and unpaused the game, returning to his next mission. He heard a faint rustle from the couch but didn’t look up, only tensing slightly as Loki padded over to peer over his shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

“Playing a game.” He lined up the shot and tapped. One target down, two to go. He could feel Loki watching intently and tried to ignore it.

“This is a game in which you pretend to kill these…facsimiles of people from a distance,” Loki said, at length. Clint resisted the urge to tell him to go back to his couch and maybe pretend to sleep a little longer. He’d almost been enjoying the quiet.

“Yeah,” he said instead, terse, even though he knew that being so wouldn’t deter questions from Loki.

Loki _hmm_ ed and watched Clint pick off his remaining two targets and start the next level. “Why?” he asked, eventually. Clint shrugged. He could almost hear Loki frown. “You could do anything with your time and _this_ is what you choose?”

“Maybe when you don’t try to conquer cities for fun you can criticize what I do for my entertainment,” Clint said, a little snappishly. Loki did not seem deterred.

“It was not for _fun,_ and I merely fail to see how you can possibly find something this inane diverting.”

“Oh, sorry,” Clint deadpanned. “Should I have mentioned the part where it wasn’t even your idea?” Loki hissed, and Clint stretched his legs out and didn’t so much as glance around. “Why don’t you go take another twenty hour nap? I was just getting used to the quiet.”

“No, _thank_ you.” Loki’s voice had gained a new sharpness, and Clint almost regretted his comment. Almost. “I knew you were wretchedly unimaginative, but just how much-”

“Imaginative enough.” Clint paused the game again and twisted around to look at Loki. “Are you done?”

Loki eyed him for a moment, and then backed off, retreating toward the kitchen. Unsurprising, Clint thought. He had to be hungry. Lucky thing he’d gone to the grocery. “You could have turned me out while I was…resting,” he said, suddenly, back to Clint. “Or to SHIELD, if you prefer.”

Clint blinked, and had the unnerving realization that he hadn’t really thought about doing so. He eyed Loki’s back. “Yeah,” he said eventually, “I could’ve.”

“You did not.”

Clint examined him. “Same reason I haven’t just knocked you out and dragged you over there. You’re holding Tasha hostage. Unless you gave up on that, in which case…”

Loki waved a hand without turning around. “Merely thinking aloud, hawkling,” he said, voice sounding slightly absent. “Don’t make too much of it.”

Clint felt himself twitch. “If you keep calling me that I’m going to put a knife through your shoulder. Non-fatal, trust me, hurts a lot.”

Loki glanced over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. “And I told you that if you raise a hand to me I will break your wrist. Must we go down this road again? But very well, as you please.”

Clint blinked again. He hadn’t expected that. His surprise must have shown on his face, because Loki laughed quietly. “I can be gracious when I wish to be, Barton. And I _do_ want something from you.”

The way he said that, like the ‘something’ might as easily be a cup of sugar as murder, was never not going to bother him. For some reason, it just…yeah. “I’m not going to change my mind,” Clint said, flatly.

“Mmm,” Loki said, so clearly in disbelief that Clint gritted his teeth. He powered down the StarkPad he’d borrowed from Tony and dropped it on the chair, standing up. “I have been wondering – has the Lady Romanova begun to worry about your changed habits yet?”

Clint felt himself tense. “Not really your business.”

“Isn’t it? Just think if she should drop by for a visit out of worry that you have, perhaps, begun to relapse. Only to find _me_ here.”

“Your problem’d be solved pretty quickly,” Clint said flatly. “You could’ve gone to her in the first place, she’d’ve been happy to-”

“My problem, perhaps,” Loki cut in, “but not yours. What kind of _trouble_ would you be in if she – or the others, or SHIELD – discovered that I have been living with you? What _would_ they think?”

Clint’s stomach churned. _Nothing good._ Even with Loki being human, the fact that he’d kept his presence secret would look bad. Everything would look bad. And if Natasha didn’t shoot first – and she might not…

“You let me manage that,” he said, harshly. Loki’s lips twitched but he turned back to the fridge. Clint opened his mouth to argue further, but his phone started buzzing loudly with the ringtone Tony had set for emergencies. “Sorry,” he said, instead, turning on his heel to head for his room to get his gear. “Duty calls.”

“Pray try to avoid dying,” Loki said, sounding amused. “I still need you, after all.”

Not even awake for an hour and already they were back to this. Not that he’d expected anything else. Clint considered shooting an arrow through his knee on the way out.

He _did_ take the fire escape so he didn’t have to walk back through the kitchen.

* * *

Clint returned mid-afternoon from a nasty fight that had gone into the sewers. The Viper and a batch of her minions. Everything stank. Clint almost missed dealing with the Wreckers or whatever.

The shower was running and the couch was empty, and Clint stopped for just a moment to appreciate that his resident asshole chose _now_ to get interested in personal hygiene. He banged on the door twice to no response.

“Get your ass out of the shower,” Clint said, raising his voice. “I need it.”

“As do I,” Loki answered, after a moment. He sounded…cheerful. Great.

He should have let the bastard stay sleep deprived.

“I’m covered in fucking sewage, and it’s _my_ shower,” Clint snapped. “So get out.”

“No, thank you,” Loki said, too politely. Clint banged on the door again, but this time Loki didn’t bother to answer him. He glared at the wood, considering his options, which seemed to be, basically, either to wait or to barge in and haul a naked Loki bodily out of the shower.

Clint retreated to the kitchen. He wasn’t sure what he had expected after his midnight pseudo-heart-to-heart with Loki, but it looked like it was a good thing it hadn’t been much. Loki was apparently back to his usual self. With gusto.

The shower kept running. Clint lasted ten minutes before he started to fidget. It was almost forty before the shower shut off and the door opened.

Loki appeared in the hallway a moment later, wearing nothing but one of Clint’s towels and looking perfectly nonchalant. Clint almost felt his teeth click together. “Nice shower?” he said, through his teeth. At least he’d stopped being able to smell himself a good thirty minutes ago. Loki didn’t even glance at him.

“Don’t stare, Barton. You’ll make me self-conscious,” he said lightly, padding over to the couch. “The bath is all yours.”

“Forty-five minutes,” Clint said, tightly.

“Yes, well,” Loki said. “One takes ones pleasures where one can.” Clint was not going to look too closely at that statement, no he was not. Loki glanced over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. “Are you going to go? I intended to get dressed. Although if you wanted to watch…” Loki’s hands drifted to the towel at his waist.

“Sorry,” Clint said savagely, against his urge to bolt. “I’m just not that into – uh, whatever it is you are. Remind me?”

Loki’s laugh sounded just a touch forced to Clint. “Is that really the best you can do?”

“I could do a whole lot better,” Clint snapped, “if I thought you were worth the effort.” He started down the hallway, hackles up. Loki’s voice drifted after him.

“Why, hawkling,” he said, sounding convincingly amused. “You wound me. And here I thought you cared.”

Clint put his head down and sped up. “Try the other one,” he said, and closed the door firmly behind him before Loki could respond.

The bastard had used up all the hot water.

Clint took the quickest shower he could manage while still getting the grime off, threw his filthy uniform in the washing machine, and tugged on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt before returning to the kitchen with vague plans of making himself a grilled cheese. Loki was stretched out comfortably on the couch, pen in one hand and newspaper in the other. Fully dressed, to Clint’s relief. Clint stopped and looked at him.

“I guess the nap cured you,” he said, without inflection. Loki glanced up, eyebrows raised.

“Indeed,” he said. “It was most refreshing.”

Clint almost missed cadaverous, about to keel over, borderline-insane with sleep deprivation Loki. It was better than this bizarrely jaunty new model. “I’m happy for you,” he gritted out, and turned for the kitchen.

“You sound simply delighted,” Loki’s voice floated after him. “Mm. Three-letters, Barton, used car inits.”

“Fuck if I know,” Clint snapped, pulling out the loaf of bread, giving it a quick check for mold, and pulling out two slices. “Are you actually trying to do the crossword?”

“I thought you would find it preferable to my occupying myself by dissecting your computer,” Loki said mildly, and Clint just stared at the slices of bread for a moment, not sure what to make of that.

“If you touch my computer,” he said eventually, “I will peel your skin off in one piece.”

“Better!” Loki said, sounding almost delighted. “Your threats are improving. What about – former tennis star Michael, five letters.”

Clint grabbed a skillet and put it on the stove, slapped some butter into it, and turned on the burner. “If you want to entertain yourself then entertain yourself without bugging me,” he said, still trying to figure out if that was supposed to be a considerate move on Loki’s part or if he was being fucked with. This was Loki, so he thought it was probably safe to assume the latter. “I don’t know.”

He could almost hear the frown in Loki’s voice. “I don’t remember your being so dreadfully irritable all the time.”

Clint felt his shoulder muscles lock tight. “Maybe because most of that time I wasn’t _me._ ” The butter began to sizzle, and Clint realized belatedly that he’d forgotten to slice any cheese. He stumped over to the refrigerator and jerked the door open, pulled out a block of cheddar. “Or did you forget that?”

“You say that,” Loki said mildly, “but it is not, in truth, in the least accurate. You were still very much yourself. I didn’t _break_ you, Barton. Just…bent, slightly.”

Clint’s spine crawled. “Do you expect me to be grateful for that?” His voice sounded ugly and tight in his own ears. He could just see Loki shrug out of the corner of his eye as Clint pulled out a knife.

“It might allow you a sense of perspective to remember that I _could_ have crushed your mind into dust and rebuilt you entirely, if that was what I wished.” The casual way he said that made Clint’s stomach knot, nausea rising up the back of his throat. _Then why didn’t you?_ a crazy part of him wanted to ask, but he didn’t want to go near that one.

“I don’t think I need a sense of perspective,” Clint said, laying out slices of cheese on his bread. “Especially not from the guy who tried to take over the world throwing a temper tantrum about how his daddy didn’t love him enough.” He glanced over just enough to see Loki tense, and smiled, though it was more of a baring of teeth. “Whoops. Sore subject?”

“It must be sweet,” Loki said, the mildness in his voice slightly dangerous, “for you to feel as though finally, _finally,_ you have power. When always you have been so hideously weak.”

Bile burned in Clint’s stomach. “Is that what it was like for you?” he asked sharply. He realized too late that he was digging his fingers into the bread, and pulled his hands away. “When the Chitauri handed you that staff thing, I bet you _cried_ you were so relieved not to be powerless. But that’s the kicker, isn’t it? You were still just their meat puppet.” Loki rose, his muscles coiled tight.

“Have you ever been anything but?” Loki’s smile was cruel and sharp. “From childhood, even. To the streets, to SHIELD, to me, and now your _Avengers,_ all of them amount to one thing – that you _crave_ to be commanded. That everything in you desires to follow, not to lead. To bend to a will stronger than your own.” He took a step toward the kitchen, and Clint dropped the half mangled sandwich in the sizzling skillet and turned to face him, keeping all expression off his face.

“As opposed to you. You _desperately_ want to lead but there’s no one in the entire damn universe who would choose to follow you.” He caught a small tic in Loki’s jaw. “You can try to make me feel small and pathetic all you want, but you know why it’s not going to work?” He paused, just a moment. “Because all I have to do is look at you to see what _small_ and _pathetic_ really looks like.”

Loki’s jaw tightened visibly. All trace of amusement had gone from his voice. “And yet even something like myself could take your will from you and mold it to mine. It suggests nothing terribly charitable about your inner strength, does it?”

Clint’s jaw locked and it was something dark and ugly that made him say, “and what did it take for them to break _you,_ huh?” Loki’s skin went just a shade paler, with rage or fear, Clint couldn’t tell. And didn’t care. “Did you ever beg _them_ to kill you like you’re begging me? How many times have you tried to die, now? It’s like someone doesn’t think you’re even worth that.” The moment the words were out, they tasted nasty, but Clint didn’t think about calling them back.

Loki almost vibrated with fury. His hands were clenched at his sides, and for a moment Clint thought he would lunge, but he didn’t. Just stood there, eyes blazing with hate and lips a thin line. Clint turned back to the stove and flipped his sandwich. It was slightly burnt, but still edible. “If you’re going to do something,” Clint said, making his voice bored. “Then do it. I’ll beat your ass into the floor and then you can crawl off to lick your bruises somewhere quiet. Otherwise, just sit down and go back to your crossword. It’s been fun.”

A long, tense moment, and then Loki took a step back. “You are,” he said, voice flat and bare of inflection, “truly despicable.”

“That hurts, coming from you,” Clint said blandly. “And also - tennis player, five letters. It’s Chang.” He slid the finished grilled cheese onto a plate and dropped the skillet in the sink. “Dishes are all yours, Frosty.”

* * *

Loki sulked again for the next day and a half, speaking solely in monosyllables and directing baleful glares in Clint’s direction at every opportunity. Clint wondered if he really expected it to be effective. At least it was a break of some kind, though.

Unfortunately, as always, he seemed to recuperate quickly, or maybe just to realize that his displeasure was having no impact on Clint’s behavior. Whichever it was, Clint was relieved to find that Loki seemed to be trying his hand at terse civility. He wasn’t very good at it, and it was plainly a strain, but he seemed to be trying.

“I don’t understand how you can tolerate living in filth,” Loki said with disgust, looking at the sink. Not trying that hard, though.

It was only half full of dishes, Clint thought sourly, and he’d had a busy couple days. Unlike _some_ people. “You’re welcome to clean any time,” he said, slinging a bag over his shoulder. “Like now, maybe. I’m going to the library.”

Loki perked up, visibly. Clint wished he’d kept his mouth shut. “Is that so?” He sounded decidedly intrigued. Clint grimaced. “I wasn’t aware you read.”

Clint gritted his teeth not to snap that of _course_ he read, and instead said, “when I’m not defeating mediocre supervillains, yeah, I do.”

“I learn something new about you every day, Barton.” Loki sounded decidedly amused, but there was a glint in his eye as well that Clint didn’t like. He should have just taken off out the door without saying anything. Now he had a feeling he was going to have a tagalong.

“I’m just full of surprises,” Clint drawled.  

Loki pushed back from the sink and stretched. “I don’t suppose you would mind company.” His smile was decidedly toothy, and clearly suggested that whether Clint minded or not, he was going to get it. Clint kept himself from wincing.

“I would,” he said, voice sour. “Aren’t you worried your Chitauri buddies might swoop out of the sky and snatch you off the streets?”

Loki twitched, but only minutely. “In the full light of day, in the very city where they were defeated? I doubt that they would take the risk.”

“Just so we’re clear that if they do take the risk, I’d be the first to truss you up with a bow around your neck to hand you over,” Clint said. Loki’s eyebrows rose, the determination in his expression only sharpening.

“Are you quite finished attempting to frighten me, or are you going to go on trying?”

Clint bared his teeth in a feral grin of his own. “It’s not trying if it works. I wish I could ask them what they did. I could use some pointers.”

Loki’s expression cooled visibly. “You would have screaming nightmares worse than I if I told you,” he said, something strange in his voice momentarily, though it was gone in the next words. “Do you have errands to run, or not?”

He ground the heels of his hands into his eyes. He could probably figure out how to keep Loki from tagging along. Could always just knock him out and lock him in the bathroom until he got back. Clint grimaced. “Cause me any trouble,” Clint said. Loki gave him a dazzling smile.

“I would never.”

Clint headed out the door, not checking to see if Loki was following. Of course, Loki caught up with him a few steps later, a little bit of spring in his step.

“Excited for walkies?” Clint shot at him, irritably. “I should get you a leash.”

“Don’t sulk, Barton,” Loki said smoothly, apparently unaffected. “It is terribly unattractive, and you really don’t need the help.” Clint nearly gaped at him, and Loki smirked down his nose. “Yes?”

“Classy,” he said shortly. Loki’s smile only broadened, and Clint turned his head to fix his eyes forward. “We’re going to have to take the subway. If someone tries to pickpocket you, don’t do anything drastic. In fact, don’t do anything at all. Keep your hands to yourself.”

He could almost hear Loki’s expression twist with displeasure. “If anyone should try something so foolish-”

“If you try anything, foolish or otherwise,” Clint ground out, “next time you sleep you’re going to wake up with a problem involving several broken fingers. Clear? Not to mention that random acts of violence tend to get you _noticed_ around here. All it takes is one person looking too closely at your face.” He stopped at the top of the stairs leading down into the subway, and turned to look at Loki. His lips were pressed together in a thin line, expression too deliberately blank to be anything other than profoundly pissed off. Clint raised his eyebrows. “Still want to come?”

Loki swept a hand toward the stairs. “Lead on, Barton,” he said, simply. Clint supposed he’d made it too much of a challenge for Loki to say anything else.

They descended down into the tunnels. It was early afternoon, so it wasn’t too terribly busy, but Clint still drank in the look of vague distaste on Loki’s face as they moved along. “I don’t understand how any of you tolerate this – _squalor,_ ” Loki said. Clint shrugged.

“You get used to it.” Loki made a faint scoffing sound, and Clint threw him a quick look. “You will, too,” he said, ruthlessly. “Now that you’re one of the insects.”

“I very much doubt that.” Clint stepped out onto the platform and Loki followed him, stepping well clear of a slightly suspicious looking stain on the floor. “Do you truly not notice it? The smell alone-”

“Part of the charm,” Clint said. “You know, if you thought all of this was so – uh – plebeian or whatever, why bother?”

Loki’s lips thinned again and he glanced around at their company on the platform, all of whom were, of course, ignoring them both. “If I had been successful I would hardly be scurrying around underground like a rodent.”

“I dunno, you didn’t seem too impressed with much of anything, even aboveground.” Clint raised his eyebrows. “See, I kind of figured it was kind of a cosmic bitchfit. ‘Thor got a planet for his birthday and I didn’t so I’m going to break his’ sort of thing.”

Loki’s face tightened, but his voice remained conversational. “If I wanted to ‘break’ your planet I would have gone about it entirely differently.”

“And probably failed that one, too,” Clint said, blithely, and grinned at Loki as he made a sharp move in Clint’s direction and then stopped, eyes flicking past him to the others on the platform. Clint let his grin widen. “Hey, look. Here comes the train.”

The look Loki gave him was full of loathing. He settled back on his heels, though, a tic visible in his jaw. He said nothing further as the train pulled up and unloaded, striding on the minute there was space. Clint followed him, feeling just a little pleased with himself.

Loki didn’t talk the rest of the way to the library, his face twitching every time someone so much as brushed against him in the subway car, posture growing ever more tense. He exited in a hurry when Clint did. He felt a momentary rush of panic as he lost Loki in the mass of people, caught him again, and almost had to jog to catch up with him. “What’s your problem,” Clint said, “well, other than the obvious ones,” but Loki ignored him until they got out of the tunnels and emerged onto the street, when he let out a breath, then took several deep ones. Clint eyed him.

“Since when are you claustrophobic?” he asked, eventually, keeping his face expressionless. Loki’s head snapped around to stare at him.

“I am not,” he said, after a pause just a few moments too long. “I merely don’t feel the need to linger in a stinking cave longer than necessary.” Clint half opened his mouth, but then closed it, not entirely sure why he didn’t take the opportunity.

“Right,” he said, letting his tone carry how dubious he was of that explanation. “I bet. This way.” He started down the street, and Loki kept pace with him. Clint noticed the way his head turned around, the attempt to survey everything at once somewhere between curious and paranoid. It was only a couple of blocks to the library, and Clint heard Loki’s quiet hum as it came into view.

“Well,” he said, mildly. “ _There_ is a building that manages not to be entirely hideous.”

“I’m sure it’s flattered,” Clint muttered, nearly stalking up the stairs and pulling the doors open. It didn’t close quite fast enough to shut on Loki, to his disappointment. “Are you going to follow me around or can you manage without fucking up for ten minutes?” Clint asked, lowering his voice and turning to find that Loki was no longer looking at him but rather through the left pair of doors, the expression on his face…decidedly not one that Clint had seen before, and not one he wanted to think about too much.

“Oh,” Loki said, slightly absently. “I think I can manage.”

Clint’s eyes narrowed. His brain couldn’t help but quantify the look on his face: eager, maybe. Anticipatory. It was…weird. Clint considered, for a moment, that it was probably a bad idea to leave him alone, even somewhere as innocuous as a public library. Somehow, though, he didn’t think that he was going to cause trouble just now. “You can’t go home with any of the books,” he said, after a moments’ pause. “Not without a library card, which you can’t get without ID.”

“Mmm,” Loki said, not sounding as though he was paying attention. Clint opened his mouth and then shut it. He shrugged, and turned to go to the circulation desk.

He picked up his holds, browsed for a little while, and discovered when he went to check them out that his library card was missing from his wallet. He swore under his breath and turned to stalk back to the research library that had caught Loki’s eye.

He found him in the middle of the stacks, browsing through what looked to be the US history section, four or five books already under his arm and looking thoroughly absorbed in the heavy tome he was currently paging through.

“My library card,” Clint hissed.

“Oh, yes,” Loki said, absently. “I have it.”

“When did you-” Clint cut himself off. No point in asking, probably. Probably at some point on the subway. He was almost more irritated that he hadn’t _noticed._ “Yeah. I figured. Give it back.”

“I am not finished looking.”

“Oh yes,” Clint said, “you are.” Loki glanced up from his book just long enough to give Clint a look that he could only classify as ‘petulant.’

“What harm, exactly, is it going to do to allow me some reading material? I assure you I do not intend to cause any damage to the _books._ ”

_You’ll probably just rack up overdue fines,_ Clint thought peevishly, but didn’t say. “I’m not here to _entertain_ you.”

“No,” Loki said, his voice flat as his eyes dropped back down to the pages. “You are here to kill me, but seeing as you are not doing that-” _God,_ Clint hated it when he pulled that out. Assassinations were one thing. Apparently assisted suicide was crossing a line.

An old man poked his head around the corner and glared at them both, and Clint gritted his teeth. He took a deep breath through his nose and let it out. _Asshole,_ he thought savagely. _He’s just a fucking petulant cocksucking spoiled-_

_On the other hand, if it gives him something to do that’s not being an irritating little snot…_

“Fine,” he snapped. “Fine. But the ones you’re holding. That’s it. You can come back later if you want more.”

Loki’s fingers lingered on the book he was holding, but to Clint’s amazement, after a moment he closed it, added it to the stack under his arm, and produced the library card between index and middle finger. “Agreed,” he said, lifting his chin. “That seems an acceptable bargain. Where do I go to request these for loan?”

* * *

The trip home was…comparatively peaceful. Loki read, which appeared to distract him adequately from his discomfort with the subway. Clint stared at him, eyes narrowed, somewhat alarmed by how… _normal_ Loki looked, dressed in casual clothes, legs crossed and bent forward over a book, expression focused and intent and not on any nefarious plans.

It was…weird, seeing Loki like the way he’d been in the stacks. Almost at ease, focused on something other than his own misery or causing someone else’s. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like that he’d just checked out library books for the bastard who’d fucked with his head. He didn’t like _anything_ about any of this.

Either Loki didn’t notice him staring or was declining to react to it, though, because he didn’t so much as glance at Clint. He closed the book carefully when they reached Clint’s stop and stood up. “Shall we?” He murmured, almost polite, and Clint gave him a poisonous look as he stood.

He trooped back to the apartment, preoccupied.

Mrs. Brustein came out of her room, dog under one arm, as Clint was opening his door. She looked from him to Loki and back, expression plainly curious. “Good afternoon,” Loki said, smooth and polite. The dog yapped, and squirmed.

“I don’t think we’ve met, Mr…” she said, and Clint shoved the door open.

“He’s not staying,” Clint said sharply, and tugged Loki inside, closing the door firmly behind them.

“So rude,” Loki said mildly. Clint gave him a nasty look.

“I thought you were trying to keep a low profile.”

“Does that mean I can’t greet your neighbors?” Loki asked, almost sounding convincingly innocent. Clint breathed out through his nose and hitched his bag of books higher on his shoulder, heading back toward his room. “You’ve probably given her all kinds of inappropriate ideas,” Loki called after him.

Clint flipped him off over his shoulder without rising to that bait, and glowered sourly at nothing in particular as he closed the door behind him a little too firmly. This _temporary_ little arrangement, he thought, was starting to get disturbingly domestic.

He’d have to watch out for that. And work out a way to end this that wasn’t how Loki wanted it to.

Yeah, he thought bitterly. Maybe if he stared at a wall long enough something would come to him.

Fuck his life. Seriously. _Never should have taken the New Mexico assignment_ , Clint thought. _Then I wouldn’t be here with a crazy ex-god squatting in my apartment trying to blackmail me into killing him._

A life that didn’t involve this whole mess could only be an improvement.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnd after a long silence...I'm so sorry about my update speeds, guys. Really I am. But they are what they are, and I get things up as quickly as I can manage. (Thank you, _thank you_ for not bugging me about it.) 
> 
> Something resembling a plot begins to appear! Maybe. Shhh, don't get too excited, you'll scare it away. Slight warning for violence, a panic attack, and ~suggestions~ of heterosexual sex this chapter, if any of those are things that upset you. 
> 
> With thanks, as always, to my darling [hawkling,](http://zaataronpita.tumblr.com) for beta-ing. And I didn't even have to mind-control her into doing so.

Loki dropped a sheet of paper covered in sprawling black ink on Clint’s plate. Clint stared at it, nose wrinkling. “What’s this supposed to be?”

“A list,” Loki said, moving toward the fridge. “I should think that obvious.”

“Why is it on my food?” Clint asked, and then scrutinized Loki’s back. “And is that my bathrobe?”

“Mmm,” Loki said noncommittally. “Are you out of yogurt?”

Clint picked the paper off his plate and dropped it aside, glancing briefly at the first few items. It was…food. A grocery list. Within the first four Loki had written “raspberries, fresh” and “white fish, halibut preferable.” “You ate the last one yesterday. Are you actually expecting me to buy food? For _you?_ ”

Loki made a faintly displeased noise and closed the fridge. “I hope you intend to rectify that lack. And why not? I would be happy to do it myself, but as you pointed out, I do not have the funds. Never fear, I can prepare my own meals.”

“No,” Clint said, after a moment in which he just stared at Loki’s back. “Sorry.”

“Why not?” Loki frowned at a box of cereal, set it aside, and fetched a bowl.

“Do you want the entire list of reasons?” Clint asked, slightly incredulous. “I thought we already covered this – I’m not here to make your life easier.” Loki turned, bowl in hand and eyebrows raised, and Clint wondered if he was ever going to get over the surrealism of this entire damn situation. “No,” he said again, after a brief silence.

“Don’t be petulant.” Loki picked up a flake of cereal and popped it in his mouth, eyes intent. Clint refused to fidget under that stare. “Wouldn’t you rather I didn’t devour all of _your_ favorite items?”

“I would rather,” Clint said, “you got out of my house."

“Yes, well,” Loki said airily. “I think I’ve made it clear that is not going to happen.” Clint didn’t let himself scowl.

“You’re not going to irritate or inconvenience me into changing my mind, you know. I’m a little more stubborn than that.”

“For the moment,” Loki said, eating another flake of cereal. “How long will that determination last? I can be _quite_ irritating and inconvenient.”

“Yeah,” Clint muttered, “no kidding.” He moved the list off his plate and shoved it into a stack of mail on his counter where he hoped it would get lost. “I’m still not going to run errands for you.”

Loki sighed. “What may I offer in exchange, then?” He asked, voice deeply long-suffering.

“Leave,” Clint said, straight away. Loki narrowed his eyes.

“You are not a very good bargainer.”

“I’m not going to bargain with you,” Clint said flatly. “And I’m not going to get you groceries.”

“I am making you a rare offer, h- Barton.” Clint noticed the correction, and tried not to twitch. “Quid pro quo. You do something for me, and I will do something for you. Barring leaving, of course.”

“I don’t want you to do anything for me,” Clint said stubbornly. He picked up his dishes and walked around the counter, brushing past Loki to drop them in the sink and ignoring the way Loki’s nose wrinkled. “Other than getting out of my life, I’m pretty happy not taking anything from you. As if there were even anything you _could_ do for me, considering.”

Loki’s face twitched, but overall his expression remained stubborn. Clint was faintly disappointed that the jab hadn’t worked. “I am still capable of plenty in this admittedly pathetic body, Barton.”

Clint rubbed his temples. “That still doesn’t mean I’m even remotely interested in accepting anything from you. We’re not friends, remember? I don’t take favors from psychopaths. Or former supervillains. Or whatever you are. From you, let’s just go with that.”

Loki’s jaw tightened. “You are being absurd about this. It is a simple request.”

“Yeah, and I’m turning it down.” Clint raised his eyebrows. “What’re you going to do about it?”

He watched Loki’s nostrils flare and his body coil tight, watched him force himself to relax, though his eyes bored into Clint the whole while. Clint made himself look back, impassive. “If you would sooner loan me the money,” Loki began. Clint let out a harsh bark.

“Yeah, I don’t think so.”

Loki hissed something at him in a language Clint didn’t recognize and stalked away across the room, over to the windows, despite the fact that Clint knew all they overlooked was a dingy square that might be called a courtyard, if he were to be generous. Clint felt a small twinge of satisfaction, but it was smaller than he would’ve expected.

“I would not ask you if I could do it for myself,” Loki said, tightly.

“Then maybe you should get a job,” Clint said. “Earn some money. Like the rest of us ants.” Loki’s lips peeled back from his teeth. “No one recognized you on the way to the library. Maybe you look pathetic enough now that no one will.”

“I do not intend to _linger_ long enough to – assimilate,” Loki said. His voice was perfectly flat.

“You might not have a choice about that,” Clint said, ruthless. “I’m not going to change my mind and at this point I don’t know how many options you have. I mean, you could try SHIELD, but they’d be more likely to imprison you if they didn’t just kick you to Thor.” He watched for the flinch. “And my friends, the other Avengers? They won’t kill you. It’d be inhumane. Even Natasha…she’d take you to SHIELD. Probably after beating the shit out of you, but that’s still not dead.”

Loki’s eyes cut to him. “We’ll see,” he said. “I can be _quite_ persuasive.” There was a tremor of something in his voice, though, and Clint wasn’t sure if it was anger or something else.

“Apparently not persuasive enough. You’re still here, aren’t you?” Clint stretched his arms exaggeratedly over his head. “What’s even the point of this punishment?” He asked. “Is it just to humiliate you?”

“Undoubtedly there are many purposes,” Loki said. His voice was convincingly bored, but Clint caught the way his mouth tightened. “Perhaps Odin hopes I will sacrifice myself gallantly for the life of some poor innocent.”

“Guess daddy’ll be waiting a while for that one,” Clint said. Loki’s eyes slid just a fraction sideways to look at him.

“Indeed.” His eyes turned back forward, and Clint shifted, slightly. He could see the corner of the grocery list sticking out of the stack and made a face. He didn’t feel very victorious at having apparently won that argument, just felt petty and stupid and a little bit cruel. He tried to shove it down, but it wasn’t working as well as he wanted it to.

Clint rubbed his eyes and grimaced. “Fine,” he said, finally. “Fine, I’ll get your groceries. You can clean house for a week. Don’t move anything from where it’s supposed to be. Dishes, bathroom, nine yards.” Loki was looking at him again, and Clint ignored it. “You can start by taking out the trash, it’s full.”

Loki turned fully around, head cocked slightly to the side. He regarded Clint, who avoided his gaze. “I’m going to take a shower,” he said, and headed down the hallway, not looking back.

He tried not to think too much about giving in while he was under the spray. There wasn’t much of a point, he told himself. And it was just – if he wasn’t going to starve Loki, he might as well. And having Loki as a personal maid for a week might be worth it, if only for the mental image. The bastard ragged on Clint enough about not keeping a clean house, he might even enjoy it. Maybe Clint could hire him out as a cleaning service, he thought, stepping out of the shower and toweling his hair dry. He pulled on a clean shirt and sweatpants, and made a mental note to mention it to Loki for the look on his face.

He started back toward the kitchen, wondering if it was too late to justify a third cup of coffee.

Clint heard a crash down in the alleyway.

_Probably a cat,_ his brain supplied, but without really knowing why he was already moving, grabbing his switchblade as he went, heading for the stairs and taking them three at a time. He barreled out through the door, skidded around the corner, and stopped dead.

Loki was hauling himself up from the ground, clearly favoring his right side. Up against a dumpster that had probably been the source of the noise, and with his teeth bared, he looked even more like a feral cat than usual. Blood ran down the side of his face from a cut that followed his cheekbone, and he was cradling one arm to his chest like there was something wrong with it. There was white visible all around the iris of his eyes, and he had a knife in the undamaged hand that Clint recognized as one from his kitchen. _When did he grab that,_ Clint wondered, but it seemed of relative unimportance next to the two Chitauri with their backs to him.

_Walk away,_ some part of Clint’s brain murmured, _walk away. This isn’t an invasion._

He’d already ripped open one Chitauri’s throat before the thought was even completed. The other one turned around as its companion went down with a gurgle, and Clint didn’t hesitate before yanking his blade free and ramming it into what seemed like an eye socket, with prayer that these things kept their brains in their head.

That, or at least something equally vital, because it went down too, and then there were two dead Chitauri on the ground and Loki was staring at him, still holding the knife and wild-eyed. Clint stayed where he was, waiting for an attack, braced for it.

Instead, Loki swayed slightly, and lowered the blade. “You,” he said, and Clint wasn’t sure what that tone of voice was supposed to be.

He gestured to the corpses. “Are there going to be more?”

Loki blinked, a little too slowly. “No,” he said, after a long moment. “Not…for now.” He straightened with what looked like an effort. “That was a swift arrival.”

“Fortunately for you,” Clint said, looking back at the bodies. The thought crossed his mind that if he had just stepped back, or stayed in his apartment, Loki might be gone now. Not his problem anymore. The thought just made him feel vaguely ill, though. _Weak._

“Yes,” Loki said, after a long moment. “Fortunate. Fortunately.” Clint looked round at the strange sound to his voice, and realized that Loki was shaking visibly, his eyes still too wide, and his chest rising and falling in short, rapid little breaths. _Oh, great._ The blood from the cut on his cheekbone was now tracing down his neck, and Loki lifted one hand and touched his fingers to it, pulling them away to stare as though mesmerized at the stain.

_Why is this my life,_ Clint thought savagely, and took a step over the corpses in Loki’s direction. Loki’s eyes flicked to him, but his gaze seemed unfocused. “Hey,” Clint said sharply. “Snap out of it.”

Loki took a breath that wasn’t nearly deep enough. “I beg your pardon if I am-” his voice wobbled, and more alarming than that was the way Loki was visibly disconcerted by it. He swallowed hard, and tried again. “—I do not think it wise to linger here.” His voice strained for normalcy, and didn’t even come close.

“Yeah,” Clint said after a moment. “Probably not, but we should get rid of those-”He jerked a thumb at the bodies, and Loki’s eyes skated to them and then flicked away a little too quickly. Clint could see his gaze moving from point to point, trying to watch everything at once – and not out of curiosity this time. “Hey,” Clint said, sharply. “I’m going to need a little help here, or are you going to fall apart on me?”

Loki’s teeth flashed. “I am not-” His voice cut off and he took another too shallow breath, still trembling visibly. “—silence. I am _fine._ ” It was such a blatant lie that Clint didn’t even know what to do with it. Didn’t know what to do with any of this.

“Then help,” he said finally, simply. Loki visibly struggled to approach the bodies, watching them as though he feared they’d get up again, but ultimately they managed to get them into the dumpster. Clint considered starting a dumpster fire, and decided that the smell – and the smoke – would only draw attention, so instead he just threw a couple trash bags over the bodies to cover them up and hoped no one tried to go dumpster diving. It wasn’t a permanent solution, but it would do for now. Maybe he could just report the attack, though inevitably that’d get questions about why they were here, right by his apartment…

Loki wasn’t shaking anymore when they were finished, but Clint thought that had more to do with his muscles being too tightly locked up for it. Clint looked at him for a long moment and eventually just said, “Come on,” and headed for the exit he’d burst out of, hoping they didn’t run into anyone on the way up with Loki looking like he’d been hit by a car.

They were lucky. Clint gave Loki a little push over the threshold, glanced back and forth, and stepped inside, shutting the door to find Loki staring at him. “What,” he snapped, tensely.

Loki shook his head and licked his lips in an obviously nervous gesture. He was still holding his arm to his chest, and between too pale skin and the blood all over his face, he looked like a nightmare. Clint rubbed his eye. “—go get cleaned up. There’s a kit in the bathroom.”

To his surprise, Loki turned and did as he was told. Clint sank down into one of his chairs, only to stand up again when he realized that there was sticky Chitauri blood all over his clothes. He grimaced, and went down the hall to the bathroom to at least rinse his clothes in the shower, only to find that Loki was leaning on the counter taking shallow breaths, still a mess of blood and dirt and startlingly mussed hair.

What was he supposed to do with this?

Clint cleared his throat loudly and Loki startled, head snapping around. “Come on,” Clint said harshly. “Get moving, I’ve got alien ichor or whatever all over my clothes-”

“Be careful,” Loki said, his voice strange. “It is poisonous.”

Clint jerked his hands away from his clothes. “To touch?”

Loki swallowed visibly. “No. To ingest.” Clint decided he did not want to know how Loki knew that, and felt his face spasm.

“I guess I’ll just avoid sticking my fingers in my mouth, then. Come on, when I said _get moving_ I meant-”

Loki ran a hand through his hair, mussing it further. His hand shook minutely. “They’re here already,” he murmured, under his breath. “ _Already,_ I thought I’d have – and how did they know where to look, they must have been waiting, hidden, somehow-” His breathing was getting fast again. Clint knew a panic attack when he heard one and wanted to just back out of the bathroom and shut the door and let Loki flip out on his own. But Clint needed the shower, and if he broke something…

“The big bad aliens are dead, okay?” he said, voice still harsh. “ _Dead._ You helped me put their corpses in the dumpster.”

Loki’s shoulders twitched. “There are more. There are always-”

Clint’s skin crawled a little as Loki shuddered. He tried to ignore it. “So? They aren’t that hard to kill. Seems to me like you’re making a big deal out of nothing-”

“And if next time they send ten? Or fifteen?” Loki whirled on him, his eyes wide and wild and frightened. “I will _not…_ if you had done as I asked-!”

“Yeah, well I’m not going to!” Clint snapped, fingers crawling up his spine, full of disquiet. “So you can forget it. Wash your fucking face and pull yourself together. I need my bathroom back.”

Loki took a step toward him. “Just do it,” he snarled, “Just end it. If there was a point to make you have made it-”

“There isn’t a _point,_ ” Clint said, holding his ground but keeping his eyes close on Loki in case he tried anything stupid. “I’m just _not going to kill you._ So get that through your head!”

Loki’s breathing hitched and his body spasmed. “You,” he snarled, and then again, “you-”

Clint almost bared his teeth. “Yeah,” he said, “me, now,” and then realized that Loki wasn’t taking another breath, or not a full one. Just those hitching little gasps, and his eyes had gone wide with alarm, finally realizing he wasn’t getting enough air but unable to figure out how to get it. His expression might have been comical, except Clint wasn’t laughing, just felt his stomach do an uneasy twist and knot.

“Hey,” he said. _Fuck._ If Loki threw up on his floor he was going to clean it, panic attack or no panic attack. “Hey, Loki, look at me.” He kept his voice rough, because he needed to. This was – just business. Just fucking business, making sure that Loki didn’t flip out and cause any damage to his apartment. “Breathe with my count, okay? In on one, out on two.” Loki’s body was so tense he was shaking with it. “One, two.” He kept the count short, to start with. “One, two.” He could hear Loki struggling to match him and felt vaguely nauseous. “One, two.” He slowed his count down, gradually, then stepped it up to three when Loki seemed to be following.

Loki clawed his way back under control as Clint watched with narrowed eyes. By the time he had the count up to five, he was still rigid and tense, but he was breathing relatively normally and some of the wildness had slipped out of his eyes.

It would be so easy, Clint thought, to push Loki just a little bit too hard the wrong way and let him shatter. He could do it. He could think of six easy ways, just now.

He didn’t find the thought tempting.

“Okay,” he said, voice still low, if not exactly soothing. “Get cleaned up. Wash your face, take a shower, whatever.” Loki nodded, just fractionally. Clint jerked his head. “Let me know when you’re out,” he added, roughly. “I need to wash, too.”

He turned and stalked out of the bathroom, though he paused in the hallway, waiting until he heard the faucet turn on and then off, and a moment later for the shower to start running. Then he retreated to the kitchen.

Clint washed his hands and arms in the sink and then braced himself on the counter, head hanging forward. Somewhere along the way he had seriously lost control of his life, and he was fairly sure he could pinpoint the exact moment, too.

“Try to be quick,” Clint yelled down the hallway. “I’d like some hot water left over!”

* * *

Loki was strangely quiet. Subdued. And jumpy – a car honked and he jerked to his feet; Clint’s next door neighbor’s heat turned on and he had his back to the wall. It was making _Clint_ tense. When Clint snapped at him, Loki snapped back, but he was quick to retreat back into his brittle shell of barely held composure.

Clint didn’t know how to deal with it. Not that he knew how to deal with Loki at any time, but even the obnoxious, overly cocky version was easier than this. And he downright _hated_ the uneasy squirm that came when he caught a particular stricken terror in Loki’s eyes. _It’s just that you’re human,_ he reminded himself. _You have compassion, or whatever. That’s what makes you a hero, isn’t it?_

Right now he was watching Loki pick at a piece of toast without eating it. “If you’re going to take my food, don’t waste it,” he snapped. Loki threw him a baleful look and took an overlarge bite. Clint drummed his fingers irritably on the counter. “How long are you going to be jumping at shad-”

Someone knocked on his door, and they both froze. Loki’s eyes went very wide.

“Closet,” Clint hissed. “Now.”

Loki drew himself up, just a fraction, opening his mouth. Clint made a slashing motion with his hand and then lunged, grabbing Loki’s arm and hauling him to the hall closet, shoving him in. Loki made a startled squawking noise of protest, lashing out with one bony elbow that Clint dodged. He closed the door and backed away as another knock came. “Just a minute!” he called, bolted down the hall and flushed the toilet, waited a moment, and then walked over to open the door, almost hoping it was the landlady.

It wasn’t. Natasha raised one eyebrow at him. Clint gave her a sheepish smile, though his heart felt as though it must be pounding audibly. “Sorry,” he said. “Nature was calling.” Had she heard Loki through the door? If she had – _stay where you are,_ he thought, viciously, in the direction of the closet.

“Mmm.” Natasha cocked her head. “Dogsitting for someone just now?”

Was she giving him the chance to hang himself with a lie? If he came clean now – _commit to it, Barton. Commit to the story._ “Nope,” he said. “Why, you looking for one? My rates are very reasonable.”

“I think I’m fine,” Natasha said dryly, though with the fraction of a smile. “I’m here to talk to you.”

_She knows,_ Clint thought wildly. It was all he could do to keep from looking at the closet door. “Ooh,” he made himself say. “Sounds dangerous.” _Too much?_

Nat seemed to buy it, though, based on the look she gave him. She stepped inside, looking around, and Clint was tempted to hold his breath. The blankets on the couch, the stack of books, everything suddenly seemed to scream of a second occupant. She was going to find out. She was going to see, and everything was going to fall apart-

“Don’t get too worried,” Natasha said, giving him an odd look, and Clint tried to force himself to relax. She paced over to the kitchen, eyes sweeping over everything, and paused for a long moment before she turned around, her gaze even and steady. “How are you, really?”

Clint recognized that tone. It was her ‘this isn’t an interrogation’ tone, which meant that it probably was, at least a little. He tried not to let himself tense. _Fine, thanks, other than the de-powered god stuffed in my closet._ “Um…the way you say that makes me think you’re expecting a particular answer.”

“I was expecting an evasion,” Natasha said somewhat drily. “Which it looks like I got. Come on, Clint. I’m not blind.”

_Not blind to what,_ he though almost wildly, _to the fact that I’m keeping Loki right under your nose?_ “Meaning in this case…?”

Natasha sighed, but if she sounded exasperated she did not look terribly surprised. She turned and paced into his kitchen, drummed her fingers on the counter, picked something up and examined it for a while. Clint stayed where he was, worried that too much movement would give him away.

“Clint,” she said, and then sighed. “All right, fine. Recently, you hardly spend time outside the job with our supposed team. _I_ hardly see you. Something’s eating you.”

Clint’s eyes kept trying to stray toward the closet. Any minute now, he thought wildly, Loki was going to pop out and ruin everything, decide to damn the risks, that pushing Clint – or Natasha – was worth it. _All you’ll get from her is a prison,_ Clint thought desperately. _Just stay there._ “I guess there’s probably no chance of my telling you that I’ve got everything under control?” he tried, just in case.

“You can.” Natasha’s even stare, however, suggested that she would only take this as further proof of her suspicions, and find another way to get her answers. Clint wanted to say that he was sure she wouldn’t break into his apartment, but he wasn’t, really.

Clint scrambled for something to say that sounded reasonable. “You know it’s been a, uh, weird couple months,” he said. “What with the…aliens, and everything.”

Natasha put whatever she’d picked up back on the counter and walked over to him, expression softening just a little. “I know. You’d said…”

“That I was getting better. I know. I was. Am.” _Dammit._ Clint did not want to be talking about this with Loki ten feet away and no doubt listening intently. “But that’s not the point.”

“So what is?”

Clint’s mind went utterly blank. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Not one motherfucking answer.

So he kissed her, in a leap of logic that made sense at the time. Of course, it was only a second before Natasha planted her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back, her eyebrows raised. “If you think you’re going to distract me-”

“I’m sorry,” Clint blurted out. Natasha’s eyebrows crept higher. “I didn’t realize I was worrying you. I mean, I should have. But I’ve been a little wrapped up in my own head lately. Trying to figure out some stuff. And I’ve been shutting you out because of it.”

Natasha settled back on her heels, her eyes narrowing. “Figure out some stuff.”

“Yeah,” Clint said. He had a feeling he was babbling and just kept going. “The shit with Loki. And I’m dealing, you know? But I needed – some space. Not from you. From everything. But I shouldn’t have just disappeared.”

Her expression didn’t soften, exactly. But he thought maybe her eyes looked a little gentler. Maybe. “No, you shouldn’t have.” She paused, and then added, “so you’re dealing? Sleeping well, and....”

“Yeah,” Clint said, and hoped it didn’t come out sounding too hearty. “That hasn’t been a problem for a while.” Or, not much of one. “I mean, maybe not in a textbook healthy functional way, but nobody’s written a textbook for this, I don’t think.”

Natasha looked at him for a long moment, but then she nodded, slowly. “And do you still need it?” she asked. For a wild second Clint thought she meant Loki, and then he realized.

“Space?” She inclined her head. Clint kept his eyes from wandering to the closet. “Sometimes,” he hedged, after a moment.

Natasha’s eyebrows quirked. “How about now?”

He should probably say yes, Clint thought. Let Loki out before he pitched a fit.

_You know what? No. Fuck him._ Clint grinned, maybe a little wildly. “If you weren’t in a hurry maybe a little less space would be nice, if you know what I mean.”

Natasha laughed, but just a little bit of a glint slipped into her eyes. “I suspect I can guess. Smooth, Barton.”

“Just call me the archer of looooove,” Clint said lightly, and this time Natasha pulled him into a kiss, nipping his lower lip sharply.

“I’ll do no such thing.”

Clint gave her a lascivious grin and let his hands move to her hips. “Not even if I ask _really_ nicely?”

Natasha pushed him down to the floor, her hands going to her pants. “We’ll see,” she said, mouth quirking in that faintly sharp little smile of hers that made Clint’s skin prickle.

A part of Clint hoped nastily that Loki was listening.

* * *

When Clint woke up, he was in a tangle of his sheets, alone. There was a brief note on the bedside table from Natasha that said that she had some business to see to and he didn’t need to wait up. Clint fell back against the pillows, not quite able to keep himself from grinning.

He got up after a moment, stretching luxuriantly, and pulled on his clothes at a leisurely pace. He walked down the hall into the kitchen and was faintly surprised to see that Loki wasn’t there – at least until he realized that Loki didn’t necessarily have a way of knowing that Natasha had left for good.

Clint snickered, to himself, and considered just leaving him there, but he wandered over and opened the door. Loki had wedged himself into a corner, where he was sitting on a heap of coats, staring balefully up at Clint even as he squinted in the sudden light.

“Hey, sunshine.”

Loki unfolded with what looked like an effort. He looked tense, Clint realized, and when he glanced down at Loki’s hands they were clenched hard enough that he was surprised they weren’t bleeding. He remembered Loki’s reaction to the subways and felt just the smallest twinge of regret. Clint pushed it down and stepped back. Loki shoved him aside as he almost lunged out of the closet once he was on his feet, stalking like an offended cat to the bathroom.

“Might want to wash,” Clint called after him. “You smell a little ripe.”

The door slammed.

Clint grinned a little and headed for the kitchen, thinking about making a breakfast burrito or something. Having a quiet day, provided he didn’t get called out and Loki wasn’t a little shit (fat chance of that). He was walking to the fridge when something on the counter caught his eye.

He remembered Natasha picking something up, turning it over in her hands for a few minutes. Clint stopped dead, trying to think where she had been. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he was thinking of something else.

There was nothing else on the kitchen counter.

His stomach dropped, thoughts of breakfast burritos fading.

The little orange bottle of sleeping pills sat innocuously on the countertop. Perfectly innocent.

Somehow, Clint thought bleakly, staring at them like he could change what he was seeing, he doubted Natasha had looked at them the same way.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really have anything to say except that this chapter was really fun to write and has been one I've been waiting to do almost since I started this fic. With many thanks to [zaataronpita](http://zaataronpita.tumblr.com) for continuing to beta for me and laughing at all my dumb jokes. Or at least most of them. 
> 
> Without further ado, then.

Clint spent most of the day considering scenarios.

Best case? Natasha assumed he had taken the sleeping pills out to get rid of them because he no longer needed them. Yeah, that didn’t sound very plausible. More likely best case: Natasha decided he was allowed to pretend to be more functional than he really was, and gave him (at a guess) two weeks before she called him on it.

Worst case? Natasha made one of those incredible leaps of logic and intuition and put together that Clint had a guest he wasn’t telling anyone about and somehow got to Loki. If that happened, the best possibility was that he’d lose his job and possibly most of his friends. Worst…SHIELD would bury him in an asylum somewhere and never let him out again.

Loki wasn’t helping. He was sulking again, _loudly,_ and at the same time still managed to be the same twitchy bundle of nerves he’d been since the Chitauri had shown up. He wandered through the apartment like a restless ghost, alternating between jumping at every noise and sitting hunched up and glowering in Clint’s general direction.

“Would you stop that?” Clint snapped, late in the afternoon. “And stop twitching, too. Just – stop.”

“Stop what?” Loki almost sneered. Clint barked a laugh.

“Right. Very mature.” Clint turned his back squarely on Loki and fiddled with his mouse, restarting the episode of _Kings._ He’d been debating what to tell Loki about Natasha. It was hard to know how he’d react. If he thought Clint had betrayed him on purpose…broken their deal… _What deal? This isn’t a deal, this is blackmail. And you can’t ‘betray’ someone when you don’t owe him anything._

But on the other hand, Clint would need Loki’s cooperation if he wanted to try keeping this a secret. And he _did_ want to try to keep it a secret, because Loki might just get imprisonment – or he might get his head cut off, who knows, who cares – but Clint’s life could get a whole lot worse than that. He’d had enough of people poking at his head trying to shake something loose; Loki or SHIELD, it didn’t really matter.

He realized belatedly that Loki was staring at him. And not glowering, either; staring. His head cocked a fraction to the side. “What is bothering you, Barton?”

“You are,” Clint said, flatly. Loki didn’t look terribly fazed, though his eyes narrowed a notch. Great, Clint thought. So now he finds something to distract himself from being a neurotic mess.

“No,” he said, “this is something new. Something changed. Aught your spider said, perhaps.”

“That’s Agent Romanoff to you,” Clint said. He turned his back on Loki and stumped over to the kitchen, looking through the fridge.

“Are you – what’s the expression? Breaking up?”

Clint shut the door of the fridge hard enough to rattle the condiment bottles. “No.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Loki said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m glad to hear that you’re not having relationship troubles.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Clint scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Leave it alone, all right? Just this once, surprise me and _don’t_ pester me to talk about something I don’t want to talk about and which is none of your business anyway.”

There was a brief silence, and then a profoundly annoyed, “fine.” Clint wheeled around.

“What?”

“I said, ‘fine.’ I will not pester you on this subject.” Loki did not sound terribly pleased about it. Clint stared at him, trying to figure out what the catch was. Oh, fuck it.

 “What’s the catch?"

“There is no catch.” Loki paced away from him and nearly flung himself down on the couch, sulking again. “What do you expect me to do?”

“Fuck if I know,” Clint said. “I wouldn’t even try to guess. You’re batshit insane, I have no idea what you’d come up with.” Loki’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue with that, simply sat glowering tensely into the middle distance. Clint could almost feel him radiating displeasure. And weariness, and nerves. Clint sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Jesus, you’re a pain in my ass.”

“You could always be rid of me,” Loki said, lightly. Clint felt his temper give a little.

“If you were really that desperate to die you would’ve found a way to do it by now,” he snapped. “Whatever you’re doing, you don’t really want it over that much or you would’ve figured it out by now. Why are you so stuck on _me?_ ”

Loki said nothing, his lips thinning. Clint took a step toward him. “If you really wanted someone to kill you, you could’ve found someone else. Anyone else, probably. Any New Yorker who knew your face and had a weapon. So why me?”

Loki stood up, abruptly, and Clint froze before he could think better of it, thinking of the knives that were out of reach, but Loki didn’t look at him, right hand opening and closing for a moment before he paced over to the window. “It seemed just,” he said, after a moment.

Clint was quiet for a moment. “What?”

“It seemed just,” Loki repeated. “Fair, that it be you.”

Clint felt vaguely sick. “Because of what you did to me? Yeah, maybe. But what about the fact that _I said no?_ That doesn’t matter to you?”

“I did not think you would be this stubborn. You refused to spite me.”

“I refused because I’m not going to follow your orders anymore!” Clint said, his voice rising, and watched Loki’s shoulders tense. “And I don’t think you have the time to wait me out. The Chitauri are going to find you again, aren’t they. Maybe next time I’ll just let them _take_ you and call it good fucking _riddance!_ ”

Loki didn’t quite flinch, and suddenly Clint couldn’t _stay_ there, couldn’t keep smothering in the tight, close air. It was too much and he couldn’t breathe through it, couldn’t be here with _Loki._

“I’m going out,” he said harshly. “Don’t wait up.”

He grabbed his keys and stalked out the door. He was just a little surprised when Loki didn’t even try to stop him. For a moment, Clint hesitated in the hallway, wondering if he should really leave Loki alone.

He shoved the thought away. Fuck Loki. He was just going to have to deal. Clint wasn’t his keeper or his executioner or his anything. Not anymore.

* * *

Clint half thought about texting Natasha and spending the night with her. The idea was tempting. Ultimately, though, he would have to be watching himself the whole time to make sure he didn’t reveal anything that would pique her suspicions more, and that would cut down on the fun. Clint rubbed his eyes and found a park bench to give himself a few more minutes of non-Loki time.

Loki was scared, that much was evident. Scared and maybe getting desperate, and Clint knew from experience that could be the time when people were most dangerous. On the other hand, what _could_ he do, really? Clint was fairly confident he could hold his own against this newly mortal Loki, as long as he didn’t resort to anything like poison in the hopes of provoking SHIELD or the others into fulfilling his suicide wish. Probably he should be worrying about that.

Clint tilted his head back and closed his eyes, thoughts drifting back to Loki’s fucked up rationale. _It seemed fair._ What was he supposed to make of _that?_

_Nothing, probably,_ Clint reminded himself. _Or else he figured you’d just do it on impulse, without thinking. Of course he knows it was_ wrong. _What are you going to give him for that, a cookie?_

Death, maybe. Loki seemed to think that was – _fair._ Clint couldn’t pin down what felt so wrong about this whole thing, what made his stomach clench strangely when he thought about the casual way Loki discussed his own annihilation, and he wasn’t going to try. Loki deserved a lot worse than just being put in human timeout.

_And being put in human timeout on a world that wants you dead with no way of defending yourself from them or the freaky aliens who want to do who knows what to you?_ Clint grimaced. Put that way…it reminded him of the myths about kings leaving their children in the woods so they could claim when they died that they hadn’t murdered them, not really. Maybe that was what Loki’s father was going for.

He was getting a headache.

Clint shoved all those thoughts down and away and stood up, stretching his arms over his head before starting home. Loki hadn’t chased him out of his house yet and Clint wasn’t going to let him now.

The building still looked intact when Clint arrived, and he took the elevator up to his floor, feeling a little lazy. He took a moment to listen at the door before letting himself in. A strange smell wafted through the door when he opened it and Clint felt himself tense, immediately thinking of the nearest weapons.

Loki was sprawled across the couch. His face brightened when Clint opened the door. “Clint Barton!” he said, sounding honestly pleased. “I was not – was not certain whether I should expect you back. Welcome home.” His voice slurred a little. Clint froze.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it – l-look like?” Loki raised his eyebrows, almost comically high. Clint noticed the flush on his cheekbones. The smell…concentrated alcohol, Clint realized. A lot of it.

“Are you…drunk?” Clint had never seen Thor drunk, even after downing four times the alcohol of anyone else. But then he remembered that Loki wasn’t like Thor anymore. Loki was just human, with a human alcohol tolerance.

“Maybe a little. This is – this is much stronger,” Loki said, head tilted back over the couch. “Than I r-remembered.” He grinned at Clint, eerily broadly and strangely…genuine. That was weird about it. It actually looked like a happy expression, sort of.

Clint glanced at the table. “Fuck,” he said, eloquently. One bottle of wine rolled empty on its side. Next to that was a half empty thing of rum, and in Loki’s hand a half full glass of what Clint would have bet was Nat’s vodka. Loki lifted it in his direction and then downed the rest, only coughing a little. “Have you just been…”

“It seemed,” Loki said, with a kind of deliberate primness, “like a good idea. I do not usually – but this is the sort of circum- circumstance in which others  - indulge, isn’t it?”

It would be really nice, Clint thought, if just for once things would go well. Cause they hadn’t been, so much. And now he had a drunk ex-god in his apartment. Great.

“Was I not clear enough about the _stay out of my stuff_ rule?” Clint said, harshly, staying where he was. Wary of getting closer. Loki snickered.

“Perfectly clear. I s-simply – simply didn’t listen.” Clint stared at him.

“I don’t know if this is hilarious or pathetic,” he said, finally. Loki tipped the empty glass to his mouth, and then frowned at it.

“Both, per-perhaps? I do not see why it can’t be both.”

Oh great. This was just…he should just call the other Avengers now, tell them everything, get them to haul this drunk-ass pathetic shithead out of his apartment and his life could get back to normal-

“Do you have more of this?” Loki asked, indicating the table. “My _intention_ was to – no, I am not sure what my intention was. But I would like some more. Please.” He smiled, wide and charming. “I will grant you a boon.”

“Can you grant me getting out of my house?” Clint muttered, and then shook his head. “If you’re throwing up tomorrow morning you can hold back your own hair. I’m going to bed.” He turned to leave, and caught a motion out of the corner of his eye, Loki throwing out a hand.

“Waaaaait.”

_Keep going._ But he stopped, half turned, raising his eyebrows. “I’m not going to get you more of my alcohol.”

“Fffine. I do not know – I do not know that I should have more. But you should – sit. Talk. I do not _wish_ to – be alone.”

“You don’t…” Clint shook his head. “Are you always this bad when you’re drunk?”

“I do not usually – I prefer not to – be drunk.” Loki leaned forward, teetered a little like he was going to faceplant on the table, and set the glass down before flopping loosely back onto the couch. “I did not – I _do_ not – like…not being in control of myself. But sometimes it is good to not be in control of oneself. And I have not been in control of myself at _all_ of late and thus it seemed appropriate to – to…” he trailed off, and waved a hand. “Yes.”

This, Clint decided, was deeply disconcerting. Maybe worse than the caffeine. After a long moment, though, he came back and sat down. If Loki went from floppy to violent, after all, it was his shit that would suffer. Then he registered something Loki had said, and tensed.

“Sometimes ‘it’s good not to be in control of oneself?’ You think that?”

“Ye-es.” Loki’s head fell back and one of his arms slipped off the couch. He looked like a rag doll. “Isn’t it – so? Have you never simply wanted to – to surrender? Were you not at peace, when I held your heart? I have never – I have _never…_ ”

Clint’s stomach churned. “You think you _want_ that? You think anyone _wants_ that, _wants_ to be shoved down and turned inside out and-“ He swallowed hard, and cut off. “You _are_ insane.”

“Yes, well,” Loki said, sounding almost amused. “We all have – f-faults.” Clint stared at him, disbelieving. This was beyond bizarre, beyond surreal. This was just _wrong._ Loki’s throat bobbed a little as he swallowed. “Some of us more than – thaaan. Others.”

Clint stared at him for a moment and squeezed his eyes shut. “ _I’m_ too sober for this.”

“I think there is still some beer in the refrigerator,” Loki said helpfully. “I do not – like ale. I’m afraid I may have drained the rest of your s-ss. Supply.”

Clint just shook his head. “You’re not serious.”

“My ap-apologies.” Loki hiccupped quietly, which somehow just made all of this stranger. “I think I overestimated how much I…needed.”

“I’m amazed you’re not dead of alcohol poisoning,” Clint said flatly.

“I vomited once,” Loki said, casually, and made a face. “It was not – very enjoyable. But remember. I am not allowed to – to kill myself.”

Clint’s stomach did an uncomfortable little flip. “Were you trying to?” he asked bluntly. Loki shrugged.

“Maybe?” He smiled, and it was a lopsided, strange little thing that made Clint want to look away. “My f-father is - very thorough. It seems. No,” Loki corrected. “Not my father. Odin. Musn’t…forget that.”

Clint swallowed hard. He was not feeling sorry for this fucker. He _wasn’t._ After a moment he got up and went over to the refrigerator, pulled out a beer and cracked it open. He stayed over there, looking over at the ex-god sprawled on his couch. _This is actually happening to me,_ he thought, and took a long swig from the bottle.

“You really are a sad sack,” he said, after a few moments. Loki snickered.

“You think I don’t _know_ that?” Loki twisted his head around to look at Clint over his shoulder. “I have had – a great deal of time to contemplate how _pathetic_ it is that I am here. It is – as you said. I could walk worlds. Change the universe to suit my whims and craft illusions so elaborate they could fool anyone. And now? Now I cannot even – _die._ ” His laugh was bitter and sharp. “Pathetic is – is _kind._ ”

Somehow, Clint thought, that just took all the joy out of mocking Loki. He hated him, a little more, for doing that.

“You don’t need to be,” he said harshly. “A lot of _mere mortals_ have done more with less than you have. If you pulled yourself together and stopped your pity party-”

“Then what? The moment I venture outside I risk my former _friends_ coming to claim me for their _tender mercies._ ” Loki laughed again. “I expect they will only regret that my condition will make it harder to keep me alive for as long as they would like.” Loki turned his head, looking forward, and took a generous swig from his glass and coughed. “No doubt – no doubt this all seems fitting to you. Poetic justice. Perhaps you find it – _amusing._ ”

Clint felt his lips thin. “No,” he said flatly. “I don’t. I don’t want you here, that’s true, but I’m not a _complete_ asshole. I just wish you were gone. Or – weren’t making _me_ deal with your mess.”

“Would you wish me on anyone else?” Loki asked, something faintly arch in his tone. Clint made a disgusted noise and paced back over to sit down again.

“Look,” he said. “I’m serious. You can’t just – you’re stuck like this, and I’m not going to change my mind, so why not do something actually, you know, _productive_? You can’t possibly be completely devoid of skills. As for the Chitauri…it can’t be every time you’re just outside or else the Chitauri would have come around before now. You’re supposed to be smart. So figure this out. Stop being stupid and feeling sorry for yourself and maybe this whole mortal thing won’t suck so much.”

Loki turned his head slowly to stare at him as though Clint had been speaking in tongues. “You are serious,” he said, after a moment, sounding slightly perplexed by the idea. Clint crossed his arms.

“Yeah,” he said. “I am. I want you out of my life and I figure the best way to make that happen at this point is trying to make you get a life of your own.”

Loki stared at him, expression unreadable, and then took another swig of his drink. “Perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” Clint mimicked. “Yeah. That’s commitment.”

“It’s funny, you know,” Loki said, his voice slurring slightly. “How you think you are – a hard man. But there is a strange core of you that is kindness. Loyalty. I saw that in you.”

_And then you twisted it around and made me something else._ Clint gritted his teeth. “Don’t tell me who I am.”

“I am so very tired,” Loki said, and sighed heavily. “It is all too much. Everything. I never meant for it to go this far.” His voice quieted, his eyes falling closed. “But that is…that seems to be…how it happens.” Clint wanted to get up, or yell, or something. Loki shifted, suddenly, folded down so his head was leaning heavily on Clint’s shoulder. “You hate me, don’t you?”

Clint was starting to think it was a good deal more complicated than that. “Yes. Get off.” Loki smiled a little and didn’t move.

“Good.” Clint blinked, frowned.

“…’good?’”

“Mmm.” Loki sounded like he was about to go to sleep. On Clint’s shoulder. He moved to shove his head off and get up, and Loki just folded further to the side until he was curled up with his head on the arm of the couch. “Yes. So long as you – h-hate me, you shan’t – _pity_ me. You will – remember who I am. _Was._ That this is not – what I am.”

This just got worse and worse, Clint thought. “It’s what you are now.”

“No,” Loki said. “What I am now is – a dead man walking. Sooner or later…someone will kill me. Or the Chitauri will catch me. Even if…if they do not…I can feel this flesh dying around me. I would rather – rather be a monster than _this._ ” Loki made a vague gesture, arm flopping loosely back down to the couch before it got far. “I wish…I wish I had just died the first time. Then none of this…”

Clint’s stomach churned. “Go to sleep,” he said harshly. “You’re going to be pissed as hell at yourself for talking to me about this in the morning.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Loki slurred, and then hiccupped again, quietly. “Won’t matter to you. You will hate me just the same.” Loki’s eyes closed, slowly. “I need…need someone to remember…”

Don’t worry, Clint almost said, you’re still an motherfucking bastard, but by the rhythm of Loki’s breathing he’d already passed out. Clint took another look at the debris of Loki’s bender and shook his head. Someone was going to be miserable in the morning.

Clint nursed the rest of his beer slowly, figuring there was no point in wasting it. Loki twitched a few times and muttered under his breath once or twice, and Clint wondered if maybe passing out drunk was enough to prevent screaming nightmares. He looked Loki up and down and noticed that he looked thin again, and exhausted and miserable. Clint wanted to feel satisfied. He didn’t, though.

Clint shook his head and stood up, leaving his empty bottle on the table with the rest of the debris. Loki could take care of it later.

He crawled into bed and slept almost alarmingly soundly, for all that he dreamed about Loki.

* * *

He woke up to the dulcet sounds of Loki retching in the bathroom and made a face at his ceiling. He considered rolling over and going back to sleep, letting the bastard suffer through what was probably his first hangover in a couple hundred years, but even from his enemy the sounds of someone heaving their stomach out through their throat wasn’t conducive to rest.

So Clint rolled out of bed and pulled on a shirt before going to the kitchen and starting a pot of coffee. After a moment he took the Advil out and set it on the counter in plain view, along with a glass of water

Loki didn’t emerge until the coffee had brewed, though it was still too hot to drink. He shuffled out of the hallway looking like death warmed over. “Morning,” Clint said, deliberately loudly. Loki winced.

“Stop that,” he said, voice hoarse. Clint wondered how long he’d been in there spewing up his insides.

“Hope you’re planning on cleaning up your mess,” Clint said, still loudly. Loki gave him a baleful look.

“Please,” he rasped. “Or I may – vomit on your tile.”

“You’d have to clean it up,” Clint said ruthlessly, but he lowered his voice a little and indicated the pills and water. “I’m going to make some eggs. Take two of the pills and drink the whole glass of water.”

Loki’s expression turned petulant. “Do not – order me-”

“Or what? You can’t really threaten me right now. All I have to do is raise my voice a little and you’ll be spitting out your guts again.” The look Loki cast him was positively mournful, but Clint ignored it. “And by the looks of you, you don’t have a whole lot of guts left to lose. So sit down and take the pills.”

After a moment, Loki did sit down, and Clint turned to the fridge to pull out four eggs and set them in a bowl. Scrambled, he thought. That would be easiest. He glanced briefly over his shoulder to see Loki’s head bowed, the heels of his hands pressing into his eyes.

“Serves you right for drinking my whole stash,” Clint said, refusing to feel pity. “I hope you had fun.”

Loki didn’t answer for a moment, and then said, “I have not felt this wretched in an age.” He sounded thoroughly sorry for himself.

“You smell like a brewery. Take a shower after breakfast,” Clint said, deftly cracking the eggs into a bowl and beginning to beat them. “And I meant it about cleaning up your mess. I should make you buy me more alcohol. What did you do, start drinking as soon as I left?”

Loki said nothing, and Clint glanced over his shoulder again. The hands had dropped from Loki’s face, but now he was just staring, unnervingly lifeless, at the counter. Clint felt a small squirm in his stomach and looked back at his bowl, remembering what he’d said immediately before storming out.

He couldn’t throw Loki out. For Natasha’s sake. That was all, and Loki knew it.

Clint cleared his throat. “You might eat a banana while you’re waiting. See how that settles on your stomach. I don’t want to listen to you whine all day.”

“No,” Loki said, finally. “I suppose you do not.” But he got up and shuffled over to the fruit bowl. Clint watched him out of the corner of his eye.

“What do you remember?” he asked, cautiously. Loki didn’t quite wince.

“Too much.” Clint slapped some butter into the skillet and waited while it melted, and after a moment Loki added, “I do not really…wish to talk about it.”

Clint thought about insisting. Thought about goading him about it, about how he’d admitted how pathetic and _sad_ he was, everything he’d said about being grateful for Clint’s fucking _hatred._ He didn’t, though. He looked down at the pan, the butter sizzling in the bottom.

“Natasha knows,” he said, finally.

He heard Loki sit up. “What?” His voice was almost sharp, though he quieted it quickly. “What do you mean, she-”

“Not about you,” Clint said. “Not yet. I don’t think. But she knows something’s up. And she’s not going to just leave it alone. Sooner or later she’ll find out about you and then…”

Loki exhaled harshly. “And then what?” he said. There was a note of despair in his voice. “What do you expect this to change?”

“She’ll turn you over to SHIELD. Is that what you want? Whatever it means for her, I bet.”

“When were you going to tell me this?” Loki’s voice was taut.

“I’m telling you now.” Clint didn’t look over his shoulder. “That ought to be good enough. I didn’t have to say anything.”

“And what is it, _exactly,_ you expect this to change?”

“I’m giving you a chance,” Clint said, not quite through his teeth, and he did turn around, turning the stove off. “To pull yourself together and _do something_ other than sit around waiting for something that’s _not going to happen_ and self-destructing in front of someone who doesn’t give two fucks about you. Start over. You’re smart, make a life. Fuck, go to SHIELD, if you have intel maybe they’ll protect you from the big, scary Chitauri. Do something other than bumming around my apartment feeling sorry for yourself!”

Loki stood up with what looked like an effort, but his expression was ugly and furious. “My face is known across your realm. I can pass unnoticed for a few hours, perhaps even a few days, but sooner or later I will be recognized, and what then? Or if I go to your SHIELD – I have no wish to spend the rest of my life in a cage and no illusions that that is not exactly what I would find there. I believe I have made clear that I would rather _die._ I have skills, certainly, but who will give me the chance to use them? And even if they do, how will I be able to earn a living with the Chitauri hunting me, _hounding_ me, ready to drag me to a fate you cannot even _imagine?_ All this – and what makes you think I _want_ to be a mortal? Why would I wish to _try_ to integrate into your pathetic little realm-”

“Because _human_ would be better than what you are now,” Clint snapped. Loki’s shoulders went rigid.

“What I am now? And what, pray, is that?”

Clint met his eyes, chin lifted. “Nothing,” he said. “You’re nothing, and you know it.” Loki’s face went white, and Clint deliberately turned his back. “That’s why you can’t make me kill you. It’s why you’re so miserable. Because you could at least be human, but you can’t even manage that.”

He glanced toward the knives, ensuring they were within reach, but Loki didn’t lunge across the counter. He didn’t say anything, either.

Clint finished making the eggs and divvyed them up on two plates. They ate breakfast in silence.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy fuck it's been...almost a year. Oh my god, guys. I'm so sorry. I'm _so sorry._ I found myself stuck on this fic for months at a time, had to delete a huge chunk and got discouraged about rewriting...and finally, finally managed to dig myself out of the hole I'd written myself into and get back on track on this fic. So...it shouldn't be another year between updates, now. 
> 
> ...yeah, I'm really sorry. But I'm back now! That counts for something, right? I did not forget about this fic!!!
> 
> (Thank you to my lovely beta, [as always](http://ameliarating.tumblr.com), who is the best roommate.

Clint got called in to an Avengers meeting early. He didn’t bother to be quiet getting ready, rattling around the kitchen deliberately loudly. Loki didn’t call him on it, though; Clint couldn’t tell if it was just that the sleeping pills knocked him out that hard or he was refusing to rise to the bait.

The meeting itself was boring, mostly. Logistical stuff, planning another public appearance – nothing urgent. “I don’t like it when it’s quiet,” Tony complained loudly. “It makes me nervous. And twitchy. Where’s a good alien invasion when you need one?”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Bruce murmured. “One will pop up, just you watch.”

“Actually,” Natasha said, “funny you _should_ say something about aliens. I was trying to figure out the best way to bring it up, and you gave me the perfect in.” Clint felt himself tense.

“Bring what up?” He asked. Natasha drummed her fingers on the table.

“Sightings of the Chitauri,” she said, her voice bland but the lines between her eyebrows betraying her worry. Tony swore and Clint saw his knuckles go white. Steve leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Only a few,” she went on. “In groups of two or three, around the city, mostly after dark.”

“That’s bad news,” Bruce said too mildly. Natasha jerked her chin in a nod.

“Yes it is. Furthermore – the sightings suggest some kind of search pattern. Some kind of technology left behind when they lost, maybe – I don’t know. But they’re definitely searching New York for _something._ ” Clint thought Natasha might have glanced at him, and kept his expression neutral, thinking of the bodies in his dumpster. He wondered how long it would be before the Chitauri noticed that some of their scouts hadn’t reported in and sent more. He glanced at Thor, who looked suddenly very preoccupied.

“How are we handling this?” Steve asked tightly.

“We aren’t,” Natasha said. “SHIELD is. If we show up, that draws a lot of attention, and the goal is to _keep_ the New York public from finding out that there are still a few aliens left over. Right now we’re mostly watching, killing if necessary. I’d like to know what it is they’re looking for. With luck, maybe SHIELD can get to it first.”

Thor’s expression of worry deepened. Clint kept his carefully blank. So it hadn’t been just the few that had found Loki, and it hadn’t been an accident. They really had been looking for him, and Clint doubted it was to give him a fruit basket.

Oddly enough, his stomach clenched at the thought. He hoped Loki was being smart and staying indoors. “Really?” Tony was saying. “We’re just going to let these aliens – aliens that _just attacked_ New York – poke around for god knows what? What if SHIELD _doesn’t_ get to it first, huh? What happens then?”

Natasha crossed her arms. “Do you have another suggestion?”

“Yeah,” Tony said. “Grab one of them. Talk to it, find out what they’re looking for.” Clint tensed, but Banner was shaking his head.

“Find out how? I doubt they’re going to agree to have a nice conversation – if they even speak English. Which I doubt.”

“As far as we can tell, they don’t,” Natasha said, putting her elbows on the table. “SHIELD hasn’t had any luck communicating with them.”

“I don’t like it,” Stark complained again, almost querulous. He looked fidgety, Clint noticed. They all knew Tony’s near-death-experience hadn’t exactly left him untouched, and anything about aliens tended to set him off. Clint couldn’t blame him.

“Nobody likes it,” Steve said, sounding tired. “But it doesn’t sound like we have a whole lot of other options. Natasha, you’ll keep us posted?”

“Yeah,” she said, but she’d noticed Thor’s expression. “What’s the matter, Thor?”

Thor shook his head quickly. “Nothing,” he said. “Or rather – merely the concerns Tony has already spoken, and a wish that there was an alternative to what feels like doing nothing.”

 _Nice save, buddy,_ Clint thought. So Thor probably knew Loki was on earth somewhere. Clint wondered what he would do if he told Thor his brother was living in his apartment. Probably come speeding over and – yeah, Clint had a feeling that would give Loki a reason to activate his failsafe.

Their meeting broke up fairly quickly after that, but Natasha snagged Clint before he could slip out. “We’ve been called up on assignment, heading out in the morning tomorrow. Did you get my voicemail?”

Clint winced. “No. Must’ve missed it. Phone’s been acting up lately.”

Natasha gave him a weighing look. “Are you good for this?”

Clint didn’t have to feign his offended look. “What do you think,” he said, a little flatly, and stalked away from her. He knew what she was getting at – those damn sleeping pills – but he’d be damned if he was going to put up with aspersions on his capabilities.

At least _that_ wouldn’t be suspicious.

* * *

Clint came home to an empty apartment.

The couch was unoccupied. The blanket was folded neatly at one end of it and other than the fact that the kitchen looked spotless it was like Loki had never been there.

“Loki?” Clint called, the hair on the back of his neck prickling, but there was no response. Clint paced through the rest of the apartment, which didn’t take long, and even poked his head out into the hallway, but his initial belief was confirmed: Loki was no longer on the premises.

Clint did not feel particularly relieved.

He checked the whole apartment again for booby traps of some kind, or maybe a hint as to what Loki was playing at, but still turned up nothing. They hadn’t talked much since that last breakfast, Loki skulking around in sullen silence and Clint trying to ignore the fact that Loki was there at all. Maybe he’d just given up, Clint told himself. Worked out that he wasn’t going to win his suicidal standoff and…

And what? If Clint knew anything about Loki (and he knew more than he wanted to about Loki) the bastard didn’t just give up. Even when it would be smart. Maybe especially when it would be smart. If he’d been dragged off by the Chitauri there should have been some sign of the dragging. No, this was probably some kind of head game, and Clint just didn’t know what it was. Loki being some variety of pissy little shithead. That was what he was good at, wasn’t it?

Much as Clint hated to admit it, it was working. He kept turning around to stare at his empty living room, half expecting Loki to pop up from behind the couch. Of course, if the Chitauri really were looking…Natasha had said _mostly after dark_ but there was some latitude in _mostly._ If Loki got grabbed because he was stupid enough to go wandering off – he wasn’t going to cry about it. Right?

Something about that idea made Clint’s stomach twist weirdly, though, thinking of Loki’s panic attack after the Chitauri had cornered him in the alley. It wasn’t pity, he told himself savagely. Just – normal human decency. He might be vindictive, but if someone was going to torture Loki it was going to be him.

That was all, the only reason he couldn’t stop fidgeting, an uneasy churning in his gut.

Maybe an hour and a half later, though, Loki came through the front door, decidedly in one piece. He did not so much as glance at Clint as he moved for the couch.

“Hey!” Clint called out. “Where the hell were you?”

“Out,” Loki said tersely. Clint narrowed his eyes at his shoulders, which looked a little damp. Glancing at the windows, it did look like it had started drizzling. “I should think that would be obvious.”

Clint was not going to rise to that snide bait. “No kidding,” he said, trying to keep his voice flat. “I meant _where._ ”

“I do not know that my movements are any of your concern.” Loki still hadn’t looked at him, and for some reason it was making the back of Clint’s neck itch.

“Nice try,” he said, maybe a little less calmly. “I don’t trust you as far as I could throw your brother.” A slight twitch at that, but no further reaction. “I thought you didn’t want to show yourself outside. Remember the big, scary Chitauri wandering around out there gunning for you?”

Loki’s throat bobbed and finally he looked up at Clint, his expression one of manufactured boredom. “I went for a walk. It was a risk, but I did not think I could remain comfortably in this hovel any longer without a respite.”

“This ‘hovel’ is the only shelter you have,” Clint said. “If it weren’t for my better nature you wouldn’t even have that. So you just went for a stroll? No reason?”

“None you need be aware of.” Clint crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows.

“Uh huh.”

Loki breathed out what sounded like through his teeth. “I can hear your doubt, Clint Barton. You are welcome to it. I am not inclined to answer your questions.”

“You’d better get inclined,” Clint said. “How do I know you weren’t stirring up trouble, huh?”

The look Loki gave him this time was an odd one, and caught Clint off guard. It looked…tired. “As you yourself have not tired of observing – I have very few options. How exactly am I supposed to have caused any ‘trouble’? And why would I feel the desire to do so?” His lips twisted up at one corner, wry. “You give me a great deal of credit for someone you have called _powerless_ and _nothing._ ”

Somehow, having his own words thrown back at him like that was…uncomfortable. It made Clint itchy in a way he decidedly did not like; like he’d done something wrong, misbehaved. That just made him angry but he didn’t like that, either. He threw the best weapon he had. “There are more Chitauri hanging around.”

Loki’s head snapped around and he paled visibly. “What?” He didn’t manage to keep the slight tremor out of his voice.

“Yeah,” Clint said, maybe a little less than kindly. “I thought that’d get your attention. Apparently there are packs of them wandering around in a search pattern.” Loki’s face paled even further. “So. Nice walk?”

Loki’s throat bobbed visibly as he swallowed, but he said nothing, sinking down onto the couch and taking slightly too deep and regular breaths. So the panic attack in the bathroom wasn’t his first, Clint thought, and couldn’t say he was exactly surprised. Still, there was something deeply uncomfortable about watching Loki fend one off sitting on Clint’s couch, clinging to the arm of it like it was a lifeline. He felt a brief pang of guilt.

“Hey,” he said, still roughly.

“What,” Loki said, his voice rough. “You are not going to remind me that you could hand me over to them?” He let out a brief, humorless little laugh. “What was it you said – that you would ask Stark to find a way to contact them and tell them where to collect me?”

Clint felt a peculiar jerk at the echo of his own words again. _Nice to know that he listens,_ a little voice in Clint’s brain commented, but that wasn’t it, exactly. “I can’t, remember?” He said instead, inexplicably annoyed. “I do anything to you and Natasha-”

Loki’s gaze turned to him. His expression was odd, a mixture of fear and resignation combined with a sickly looking smile. “What if I told you that I could do nothing to her in the Chitauri’s care? That I could not enact my revenge if they claimed me?”

Clint knew that he’d just been given an important piece of information if he wanted to figure out the form Loki’s failsafe took and how it might be blocked, but instead his brain stuttered to a halt. “You’re lying,” he said flatly. Loki’s smile grew, though as it stretched it only looked more grotesque.

“I am not, for once,” Loki said, and coughed a little laugh. “ _I thought that would get your attention,_ ” he mimicked. “So you could hand me over, after all, if you wished.” His voice was light, almost careless, but there was no corresponding gleam in Loki’s eyes. Clint’s stomach knotted, staring at him.

“Why are you telling me this,” he asked. Some part of his brain coldly informed him that he’d just been offered a lifeline. A way out. _No,_ Clint thought back at it, furiously. _This is some kind of tactic, some kind of trick. He’s just messing with me again. Seeing what I’ll do._

Loki shrugged. “Why not?” That sickly smile was making Clint nauseous. “I thought you should be aware of your options. I would not want you to make any decision under false information.”

“Stop fucking with me,” Clint said harshly. Loki blinked, slow and deliberate.

“I am not.” He cocked his head a fraction to the side. “It might even be a better revenge for you than this. You would be rid of me without surrendering your conviction. You would know that I would suffer as I have no doubt you have dreamed that I would.”

“Are you trying to _get_ me to hand you over?” Clint asked harshly. His feet felt fixed to the floor and he couldn’t look away from Loki’s fixed, dull stare. “Because you’re making an awfully convincing argument-”

“Then do it,” Loki interrupted. “This farce has gone on too long already.” His eyelids drooped. Clint’s breathing felt short and hard.

“No,” he said harshly. “I’m not going to.”

“Why not?” Loki sounded curious, but he sounded curious like someone might if you’d told them you didn’t want to go to dinner tonight, thanks. Clint ran his fingers roughly through his hair and shook his head.

“Because – because you’re trying to _make_ me do it, for some fucked up reason. I told you, I’m not your _puppet._ ”

“Wouldn’t it be a relief?” Loki blinked again, slowly. “You would have peace at last.”

A part of Clint wanted it. Wanted it _so bad_ but he kept thinking of the terror on Loki’s face when he’d seen the Chitauri in the alley, and further back to the way he’d gone quiet and tense after conversing with whoever had been linked to him through that goddamn staff. He remembered how angry he’d been that anyone could hurt his master, how worried he’d been about Loki’s condition when he’d first come through the portal, and he _hated_ the memory but at the same time-

“I’m not that person, okay?” He said, through his teeth. “It’s not about you, it’s not about what you deserve – I may be petty and vindictive but I’m not a monster and I don’t like the Chitauri any more than I like you. So no, I’m not going to hand you over. Are you happy?”

Clint expected Loki to laugh at him. Expected him to smile and call Clint _soft-hearted_ and _weak._ What he didn’t expect was for Loki to stare at him, sickly smile fading into an honestly bewildered expression. Loki was looking at Clint like he’d never seen him before.

“ _What,_ ” Clint snapped. Loki blinked and shook his head, looking quickly away and licking his lips.

“I did not…” He broke off, paused, and tried again. “Barton…”

“Don’t,” Clint said. “Whatever you’re going to say, I don’t want to hear it.” Miracle of miracles, Loki shut his mouth. There was something odd about his expression, though, vaguely forlorn, almost lost. “What the hell do you think of me,” Clint heard himself say. “You were the one who said I _had heart._ ” Loki still just stared at him, and Clint shook his head in disgust. “Whatever.” He turned down the hallway toward his bedroom.

“Thank you,” he heard, in a quiet voice. Clint half turned. Loki was not looking at him, but down at his hands, and he was curled into himself in a way that made him look smaller than he was.

“For what,” Clint said. His voice sounded harsh.

“For…not being that person, I suppose,” Loki said. He made a brief, stuttering sound that might have been a laugh. “For being better than I, however little that means. For not taking the revenge that would be your right. For…I do not know.” Clint stared at him, not sure what the odd feeling in the pit of his stomach meant.

“It’s not about you,” Clint said roughly, but that wasn’t quite true. It was, even if Clint didn’t want it to be. It wasn’t just that he couldn’t give anyone over to their enemies for torture; he couldn’t do that to _Loki._ What that said about him – nothing good, he was sure. Clint didn’t fool himself into thinking it had much to do with being a _good person._

“I do not doubt it,” Loki said. They’d had this exchange before, Clint thought, but Loki sounded different now: tired, beaten down. “Nonetheless. It is me that is spared the pain.” Clint wanted to grimace. He didn’t like this Loki any more than he liked the cocky Loki or the surly Loki. It didn’t seem… _right._

“Yeah,” Clint said, after a moment. “You’re welcome, I guess.” He paused, groped for an appropriate response, and didn’t find one. Loki inclined his chin very slightly, spine still that dejected curve. _God,_ this was all – so incredibly jacked. “So…what _were_ you doing?”

“It doesn’t matter now.” Loki turned his head away so Clint couldn’t see his expression. Clint stood there awkwardly, tapping his fingers against his leg.

“I’m heading out of town tomorrow,” he said, finally. Loki did not react. Clint’s shoulder blades itched. _Are you going to be okay?_ a bizarre part of him wanted to ask. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Loki said, in what was probably supposed to sound like his usual careless sarcasm but fell far short of the mark. Clint stood there a moment longer before slapping his palm against his leg and turning back toward his room. He needed to pack for the mission. _Fuck Loki,_ he thought, but it lacked some of the vehemence he wanted it to have.

* * *

Clint checked the fridge before leaving and after grimacing at it for several minutes, trying to figure out if it was stocked enough, he blew out a breath and dropped a twenty on the table next to a note reading _for groceries_ and then left without thinking too hard about it.

He caught a cab to the airport and met Natasha at their terminal. It was a recon job only, she told him, and then grimaced, adding a “hopefully.”

Hope never got them very far. Their covers must’ve been blown before they even hit ground, and everything went FUBAR faster than you could say “hell in a handbasket.” Natasha took a bullet to the leg and an explosion left Clint with tinnitus for three days, on top of the cracked ribs, broken arm, and concussion. SHIELD got to them eventually and they managed to stagger home, battered and bruised and much worse for wear. Clint made his way back to his apartment after forty-eight hours of supervision with a bag full of heavy duty pain meds and realized it had been almost a week longer than he’d expected.

 _Aw, fuck._ Clint stopped at the bottom of the stairs. He still had a headache the size of New Jersey and did _not_ want to deal with this right now. He rubbed his forehead and started hauling himself up a stair at a time. Whatever. If Loki made one pissy comment Clint was going to shove him in the closet again.

(He tried to ignore the vague guilt/worry that there might not have been enough _food_ for two weeks and ten bucks wasn’t going to buy much, particularly for someone who probably didn’t know shit about grocery shopping and making money stretch.)

He met Mrs. Brustein on the stairs and tried to look a little less miserable. “Oh, dear!” She exclaimed.

“Car accident,” Clint said with a tight smile. “That’ll teach me to let my friends drive.”

Mrs. Brustein clicked her tongue. “Oh, dear. Well, at least you won’t be on your own while you’re recovering.” Clint blinked, confused.

“What?”

“Oh, that nice young man who was…visiting,” she said. Her eyes were uncomfortably perceptive, peering at Clint as though she could divine his secrets by staring hard enough. “He came by the other day-”

Clint jerked. “He _what?_ ” He caught a flicker of disapproval on Mrs. Brustein’s face and shook his head. “I just mean – he’s usually pretty…reclusive.” Loki had talked to his neighbors.

Mrs. Brustein scrutinized him, clearly suspicious. “He was very soft-spoken,” she said. “And quite polite.” Clint coughed, trying not to choke. “We had a very nice conversation. Are you two…living together now?”

Oh, Clint thought. “We’re, um-” Clint’s head hurt and his ribs hurt and he hadn’t been ready for this conversation. “He’s just…staying for a bit. Until he gets something else.”

“Well, that’s very nice of you,” she said, and nodded approvingly. “You go and get some rest. And say hello to your friend!”

Clint pasted a smile on. “Will do,” he said. He waited until she was on to the next flight of stairs and out of sight to exhale. He wondered why Loki had been talking to his neighbors. Just to mess with Clint’s life, probably. (Or maybe, a quieter voice murmured, because he got lonely and wanted someone to talk to.)

Clint hauled himself up the rest of the stairs and let himself into his apartment. He glanced around, half expecting something to be broken, but everything looked in place – unnervingly immaculate, really. He looked over to the couch and started. “You cut your hair,” he said, like a total idiot.

Loki looked up from the book in his lap and Clint tried not to feel a peculiar tug in his stomach at the dark circles back under his eyes. His hair was – quite a bit shorter, and decidedly uneven, like he’d just taken a pair of scissors to it. At a second look, Clint thought that was exactly what he’d probably done. Now it was cut just above his shoulders. Somehow it had the effect both of making his cheekbones look sharper and Loki in general somehow younger. It was…disconcerting.

“I did,” Loki said after a moment. He brushed a stray strand of hair out of his face and Clint noticed that his knuckles were bandaged. “It was…an impulsive decision.”

“What did you do to your hand,” Clint asked. Loki glanced down at his hand as though surprised by the question.

“Nothing serious,” he said after a moment, and then added, with a lopsided smile, “I cleaned up.” His eyes narrowed, then. “What happened to you?”  

“ _Now_ he notices,” Clint said dryly. He stumped over to the couch and sank down onto the other end of it, grunting slightly, and dropped the bag of painkillers on the table. “Mission went south. I got beat up. That’s what happens. So try not to be too obnoxious, all right?” He closed his eyes, willing his head to stop throbbing. He wasn’t supposed to take anything for another couple hours. “What were you talking to my neighbors for?”

Loki did not answer immediately. Clint cracked an eye open to look at him. “I needed to ask where the nearest market was,” he said finally. “I told her nothing but that I was a friend of yours.”

“Yeah, that was your first mistake,” Clint muttered under his breath. He closed his eye again and said more loudly, “whatever. Just don’t make a habit of it.”

“I do not intend to.” Clint could feel Loki looking at him. It made him feel itchy and restless on top of the pain. And a little nauseous, too – or maybe that was just the lingering effects of the concussion. “Where were you?” Loki asked, eventually.

“Classified,” Clint said tersely. Ugh. His stomach was twisting into knots. He wanted to curl up but his ribs wouldn’t like that, and with Loki sitting there staring- “Would you stop looking at me?”

“You do not look well,” Loki said, an odd tone in his voice.

“No shit,” Clint said. “I don’t feel great either. I’d feel better if you’d bug off and do something other than stare at me.”

“No,” Loki said slowly. “I do not mean…there is something…” Clint heard Loki shift and then cold fingers brushed his arm. He jerked, flinching.

“Don’t touch me,” he said harshly, eyes snapping open. “I don’t want – aw, fuck.” He could feel his mouth filling with saliva and pushed himself up, but the bathroom was way too far away. “I need a garbage can, basin, something-”

“Barton,” Loki said, rather than doing anything _useful._ Clint bent over, ribs screaming in protest, and threw up on the carpet. Fuck. That was going to be a bitch to clean. Maybe he could make Loki do it. He stayed bent over, panting, and only slowly realized that his vomit looked…weird. Dark. Blood, he thought at first, but no. Loki was hovering.

“Make yourself useful for once,” Clint said, but his tongue didn’t seem to be working and the words slurred together. There were black spots at the edge of his vision. “What the fuck is…”

“ _Barton._ ” Loki’s voice was sharper, and he sounded alarmed. “Listen to me. You need to call one of your friends. Tell them you’ve been cursed. Tell them-”

Clint’s hearing tuned out and then back in like a bad radio. He felt himself hit the floor, muscles seizing up and shaking. _Cursed?_ He thought wildly. _Like, magic cursed?_

“Barton!” He could hear Loki’s voice, nearby, and tried to turn toward it and open his eyes but his body didn’t seem to be responding right. “ _Clint-_ “ followed by a string of words he didn’t understand but that had to be cursing. “No, this is not – this is not acceptable, do not _die_ I cannot, I will not be alone-”

Clint tried to suck in a breath but it was like he was drowning, at least until he was pushed to his side and managed to cough out something black and viscous. His ribs were screaming and his stomach felt like it was trying to crawl out through his mouth. _Okay,_ Clint thought, _okay, I’m gonna pass out now._

Fuck magic. Fuck magic so damn hard.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weirdly insecure about this chapter and I don't know why! Maybe because it is less funny and more...people talking at each other, kind of about feelings, maybe. Which is not what this story has necessarily hitherto been doing. (But is what I usually do?? Who knows.) 
> 
> Meanwhile, back at these two morons with their heaps and heaps of issues. 
> 
> Actually, I think I might be past the halfway point on this fic. I haven't actually outlined it, but based on my sense of things...
> 
> With love and thanks, as always, to my [ever patient beta](http://ameliarating.tumblr.com), who makes things work.

Clint snapped awake and did a quick self-assessment. Other than a vague grogginess, though, and the feeling of a needle in the crook of his arm, he felt remarkably…less awful than he remembered. He opened his eyes slowly to look at a white ceiling with a slowly spinning fan.

A moment later he heard a door open and looked over. It was Natasha; he just caught the expression of intense relief before it faded into a smaller smile. “Welcome back, Hawkeye.”

“You weren’t sitting by my bedside holding my hand,” Clint said, voice rasping a little. Natasha rolled her eyes and sat down in the chair next to the bed.

“If I’d been here you would’ve said I was creepy for watching you sleep.” She held up a glass. “Ice chips?”

“I can’t have some _real_ water?” He asked. _Loki,_ Clint thought. _Shit, Loki. Did he…_

“Not yet.” Clint took the cup of ice chips with a sigh.

“What happened?” He asked. “Things are a little…fuzzy.”

“I’m not surprised.” Natasha tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a small nervous gesture that only slipped out very rarely. He must have been in pretty bad shape. “You’re lucky you managed to call me. As far as we can tell you got hit by some kind of…well, Bruce keeps muttering about how it’s an infection he doesn’t understand, but I’m pretty sure that means it was some kind of magic.”

“A curse,” Clint said without thinking. That was what Loki had called it.

Natasha’s eyebrows shot up. “A _curse?_ That sounds…dramatic. What makes you say that?”

“Sure felt like a curse,” Clint said, trying for a weak smile. Natasha did not look reassured, but she didn’t look suspicious either. “Any idea who did it?”

Natasha shook her head. “No. None of our intel suggested these people had anything like this on hand, but we wouldn’t know what we were looking for either.” She grimaced. “We’re still majorly underequipped for dealing with magic bullshit. It looks like it was just you that got hit, though. _I’m_ fine.”

“Lucky me,” Clint muttered.

“Or else it was targeted at you for some reason,” Natasha said. Clint didn’t like that thought.

“Some reason like what?”

Natasha shrugged. “I’ve been thinking about that and I’m still drawing a blank. I’ll let you know if I come up with anything. But maybe it _was_ just your crappy luck.”

“I _do_ have pretty crappy luck.” Something Natasha had said caught up to him, belatedly. “I called you? I don’t remember…” Loki, he thought. Loki must have called after Clint had passed out, and just left the phone to ring. And then…gone where? Maybe to Mrs. Brustein’s. Natasha hadn’t _said_ anything, but maybe she was just waiting to see what _he_ said, and _fuck_ he still felt too shitty to deal with this.

“I’m not surprised,” Natasha said. “You were a mess.”

“But you fixed me?” He said hopefully.

“After a round of pretty drastic full dialysis. And I’m pretty sure Bruce is going to want to do another blood test to make sure.” Natasha was examining him like there was another question she wanted to ask. “But…it looks like you’re probably in the clear. It must have been…dormant or something, your records from medical were clean…or else they just didn’t know what to look for.” Natasha grimaced. “I have to say, magic? Not a fan.”

“Yeah,” Clint said. “Me neither.” By calling Natasha, Clint realized, Loki had probably saved his life. He could’ve let Clint die. It might have even served his ultimate suicide goal better. He could vaguely remember Loki sounding frantic, panicky, right before he’d passed out. Fucking fuck. He refocused on Natasha, who was watching him closely. “So, uh. How long am I going to be stuck here?”

“If you ask me I’m tying you to a bed for the next month,” Natasha said flatly. Clint summoned a grin.

“Kinky, Nat.”

She made a disgusted noise at the back of her throat. “Ha, ha. Very funny. This from the man with broken ribs who had to get his entire bloodstream cleaned because he got cursed. Until Bruce clears you, you can stay right where you are.”

_I have to get back to my apartment,_ Clint kept himself from saying. Natasha was already suspicious. He didn’t need to give her more reasons to be. Looking at her sidelong, he noticed that she looked tired, too, maybe like she’d been up a couple nights worrying about her partner, and felt a sharp sting of guilt. Keeping secrets from Natasha – wasn’t new, but keeping something like _this_ felt wrong. Dirty. If he explained the whole situation to her, told her about Loki’s failsafe and everything…

He couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t go after Loki anyway, even knowing the price she’d pay for it. Natasha was smart, but sometimes she thought the consequences to herself were less important than other things.

And doing that to Loki now, after he’d just saved Clint’s life, didn’t exactly sit right with him either. Even if Loki still owed him a hell of a lot more.

“Great,” he groaned. “Hospital bed and hospital food. My fave.”

Natasha’s lips quirked, very slightly. “Maybe if you’re really good I’ll bring you some pudding.”

“Will it be chocolate?” He asked, widening his eyes and batting his eyelashes. She made a face at him and shook her head.

“We’ll see. You’ll have to be good first.”

“I’m _always_ good,” Clint said, giving her his best dashing smile, though even with effort it still felt more like a grimace. Natasha rolled her eyes, but she huffed a quiet laugh, too, so Clint was counting it as a win.

A moment later she leaned forward, though, smile fading. “Clint…is there anything else?”

He tried not to tense. “Anything else?”

“That I should know, maybe. That’s…happened.” Clint felt himself coil tight, the urge to snap rising, but when he met Natasha’s eyes she didn’t look suspicious or the too-neutral expression that meant she was pretending not to be angry. She looked…worried, maybe, and something else too.

Clint blew out a breath. “Why does that sound like an accusation?”

“It isn’t meant to be.”

“Still sounds like one.” Clint groaned and flopped his head back, closing his eyes. “Whatever you think’s going on, Nat…I’m fine. Honestly. Or as fine as I ever am.”

“Not saying much,” Natasha murmured, and Clint shot her a look. She met his eyes evenly, not smiling. “I believe you that you can handle it,” she said. “But I’m not sure you’d tell me if that changed. Or if something else changed.” She was driving at something, Clint could tell, but he wasn’t sure _what._ If she knew already and was trying to see how he would react, then he’d already as good as hanged himself. If she didn’t know and was just fishing…

“Is this about my apartment being a mess?” Clint asked. “Sorry you had to see that.” Natasha looked away, a brief expression of profound frustration flashing over her face, and Clint felt another stab of guilt. He couldn’t keep doing this to her, especially not for Loki’s sake.

“I’m going to call the doctor and let them know you’re awake,” she said, standing up.

“Wait, Nat-” She paused, and _now_ her expression was the “trying-not-to-look-angry” one. Clint grimaced. “I know things are messy right now. But they’re going to get better, all right? And…thanks. For saving my ass.”

Natasha was quiet for a long moment before she half smiled, more of a crooked twist of her lips than anything. “It’s a full time job, Agent Barton. Take it easy. I’ll be back later.” She slipped back out and Clint closed his eyes with a sigh. Loki had saved his life and he was in Natasha’s doghouse. Whatever this world he lived in now, he didn’t like it very much.

(Loki had _saved his life._ Clint was going to have to deal with that eventually, but he didn’t have the first idea of _how._ )

* * *

They let Clint stagger out of the infirmary just under forty-eight hours later. Natasha had taken off, apparently, on a solo mission for SHIELD, and a morose part of Clint couldn’t help but wonder if she’d done it intentionally to avoid him. He didn’t bother trying to send her a text.

He almost ran smack into Thor while he was dithering around trying to decide if he should take the subway home or suck up his pride and ask Tony for a ride from one of his personal chauffeurs. Thor reached out to steady him, though his expression remained preoccupied. “Careful, my friend,” he said with a smile nonetheless. “You nearly bowled me over.”

Clint didn’t think he could make Thor stumble on a good day running full tilt at him, but he gave the guy a quick smile for saying it. “Serves you right for getting in my way, huh?”

Thor chuckled lowly. “Indeed. I am glad to see you on your feet once again, Clint Barton.” He gave Clint a gentle pat on the shoulder – clearly paying careful attention – and moved to step by him. Clint reached out without thinking and grabbed Thor, fingers barely closing around his forearm.

“Hey, wait a minute,” he said. “Can I talk to you?” Thor looked startled, and Clint realized that it wasn’t just Natasha he’d been neglecting since the arrival of his unexpected houseguest. “Let me get you one of Tony’s beers,” Clint amended, gesturing vaguely toward where he knew there was a kitchen.

Thor nodded. “Very well.” He paused and looked Clint up and down. “Or perhaps you should sit and I can avail us of Tony’s beer?”

Clint might’ve resented that, but taking it from Thor was easier than from someone more…normal. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll take that suggestion.” They trooped to the nearest living room and Clint sank down in one of the chairs while Thor fetched two bottles of beer – the craft stuff that Clint had always kind of snorted at, half because he couldn’t really afford it.

Thor sat down across from him and Clint took the bottle gratefully, fidgeting a little. “So,” Thor said, popping the lid off his beer with his hand, “What is it you wished to ask me?”

“Well, I-” Clint hesitated. To be honest, he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d been planning on asking Thor – something about Loki, but now he wasn’t sure how to say it. “You never said what Loki’s punishment was,” he said finally, and almost winced at the way Thor’s expression twitched and tightened.

“I did not,” he said plainly. Clint swallowed.

“Is there some kind of gag order against saying?” He asked carefully. “I…get if you don’t want to talk about it, but…” Clint felt another little bit of guilt at using Thor’s own guilt against him like this. A lot of guilt in his life, lately. He was going to feel okay about blaming Loki for that.

Thor sighed. “I understand. There is no such order, I have simply…Loki was banished to Midgard, as I was.”

“Like you were? So he’s human now?” Clint realized when Thor gave him a sharp look that he probably hadn’t reacted enough to that news, so he added, “he tried to take over this planet and he just gets sent _back_ here?”

Thor looked away. “It is not…so light a punishment as it seems. And perhaps even more dangerous than my father knew, considering what Lady Romanov said of the Chitauri.”

Clint sat back, keeping his expression impassive. “You think they’re hunting him.”

“I am certain of it.” Thor’s lips pressed together. “I asked Loki – _who controls the would-be king,_ I asked, and he never answered. But I was certain then and I am more certain now. The Chitauri are not an advanced species, nor have they ever been interested in expansion. The magic Loki wielded was unlike any of his I have ever seen. Someone gave it to him, just as someone gave him an army. I suspect they are not pleased to have lost both. I only do not know-” Thor broke off, a complex series of emotions crossing his face. “My apologies, my friend. I doubt this is speculation you care for.”

“It might be important, though,” Clint said. He wondered what Loki would say if _Clint_ asked about where he’d gotten the scepter. “If whoever it is was interested in Earth…they might come back again.” He hadn’t considered the possibility that someone other than the Chitauri might be pulling their strings, but if he thought about it…the Chitauri on their own didn’t seem that formidable to someone like Loki. That he would be so afraid of them, even if it was just a matter of numbers…Clint pushed that train of thought away. “But you don’t know where Loki is on Earth,” he added.

Thor shook his head. “No. He has not…I had hoped that he would reach out to me, if only so that he would not be wholly alone. But he has not done so.” Thor looked slightly crestfallen. “There is little I can do, I think, to change that state of affairs. Heimdall will not tell me where he is.”

“Heimdall,” Clint echoed. “Your all-seeing watcher.” Thor inclined his head, and Clint made a face. “Huh.” So Loki was being watched. He wondered if anyone would’ve stepped in if Loki really had managed to get close to killing Clint, or if he would be an acceptable casualty.

Clint rocked back in the chair and looked at Thor. He could tell Thor his brother was alive, was squatting in Clint’s apartment in a bid to force Clint into murdering him. Could explain everything, tell Thor not to tell anyone and not to go charging in because of the failsafe problem Clint still hadn’t solved. It would get it off his chest, having someone else _know._

But…Clint wasn’t sure he could really trust that Thor could keep that kind of secret, or that he would be able to stay away.

“Why do you ask now, Clint?” Thor asked, his eyebrows pulled together. “I would have expected…you might have inquired before now, though I suspect I have not set your mind at ease.”

“You haven’t made it worse,” Clint said, giving Thor a lopsided smile. “As for why now…I guess I was just thinking about it. Wondering. Before…I preferred to just _not_ think about it.”

Which was, Clint realized, a change. A _big_ change. Before Loki’s arrival, he hadn’t wanted to think about him at all, even so much as his name. Even a slight mention was enough to make him flinch reflexively, and even if that had started to ease before Loki had moved in…some of the fear was gone. The terror that just thinking Loki’s name might make him start losing himself again had faded to almost nothing. When he thought about Loki now…there wasn’t the same violent, churning nausea that there had been before.

_Is this what healing looks like?_ Clint thought wryly. _Guess exposure therapy can work._

“I am sorry, still,” Thor said, standing. “For what Loki did to you.”

“Hey,” Clint said, “I got some great friends out of the bargain, didn’t I?”

Thor laughed quietly and gave Clint’s shoulder a squeeze. “Aye. That I am grateful for.”

* * *

Clint caught a cab, eventually, because he didn’t want to deal with the subway but he also didn’t want to deal with the possibility that Tony would want to come and see (and probably make fun of) his place. Not to mention the fact that he still didn’t know where Loki was. He _hoped_ back at the apartment, but…

He still hadn’t worked out how to deal with the fact that Loki had very definitely saved his ass, and Clint didn’t want him to disappear before he _did_ figure it out.

So it was with a certain amount of relief that he limped up to his front door and heard the shower running. He let himself in with a little bit of fumbling – thank god for Natasha’s spare key – and stepped inside. The living room still looked like a mess, he noticed, though he thought he remembered vomiting some gross stuff that wasn’t still on the floor, so there was that. It didn’t look like Loki had gone on one of his cleaning sprees, though. Clint wondered if that was because he hadn’t wanted it to look suspicious if someone came by, or…

Probably that.

Clint sank down on the couch and waited. After a while he turned on the TV and switched to PBS on the off chance they were showing Masterpiece Theater. They weren’t, but he left it on anyway until the shower turned off ten minutes later. Then he waited a little longer until he heard the door open.

“I hope you’re at least wearing a towel,” Clint called. “I’m not really in the mood for an eyeful.”

Resounding silence, for a moment, and then quick footsteps and Loki emerged. He was indeed wearing a towel, which was a relief. Less of a relief was the fact that he looked like he’d shed a good fifteen pounds again, there were big bruise circles under his eyes, and he was staring at Clint like he’d seen a ghost. “You’re alive,” he said – breathed, really. “You’re… _alive._ ”

Clint felt suddenly, stupidly guilty for not having informed Loki, despite the fact that a) how the hell was he supposed to have done that and b) it shouldn’t matter anyway. He was a tool to Loki, a weapon he could use against himself. That was it.

“Yeah,” Clint said, making himself shrug. “Looks like it.”

Loki twitched. He swallowed, visibly. “I was not…certain that you would be.”

“I’m full of surprises.” Clint felt like he wanted to fidget. “Guess I’m just a survivor.” He rubbed his hands on his legs. “Where did you go? When Natasha got here…”

“The closet,” Loki said, voice strangely dull. “She was too concerned to search for anything amiss, and I simply remained there until your apartment was empty again. And then I – waited.” His eyes moved away from Clint, which felt like a relief.

“What were you going to do if I didn’t come back?” Clint heard himself ask. Loki licked his lips and didn’t look at Clint.

“I am not certain.” His hand flexed at his side and Clint noticed that his knuckles were bandaged again. His newly short hair didn’t look much less ragged, either, and Clint felt a little uneasy twist in his stomach, wondering what Loki had been doing here for three days, and then the two weeks before that. It wasn’t that he’d been unaware of the fact that Loki was self-destructing – was, if Clint was honest with himself, deeply fucked up in the kind of way that probably should have been medicated. Normal, healthy people didn’t generally just spontaneously decide that they wanted to die, and Clint _knew_ that, knew it probably wasn’t just a spite thing. And the way he’d acted talking about the Chitauri taking him – that hadn’t exactly been mentally sound person behavior either. It was just that…well, it hadn’t _mattered._

“Hey,” Clint said roughly. “What have you been eating?”

Loki gave him a sharp, not quite startled look. “I-” He stopped, expression shifting between wary suspicion and confusion. “There were some items still remaining in your cupboards.”

“Huh, really? I didn’t know I had that much food.” Clint pulled out his phone. “I’m going to order some pizza. _I_ could really use some pizza right now, anyway. A large and some breadsticks, maybe?” Clint made a show of looking Loki up and down. “All right, maybe an extra-large. How do you feel about black olives?”

Loki was looking at him like he’d gone made. Clint wasn’t sure he was entirely wrong to do so. “I…do not expect I will object to them,” Loki said, clearly choosing his words carefully.

“Good call,” Clint said. He ordered an extra-large supreme and a side of breadsticks, feeling Loki staring at him the whole time. Which…wasn’t exactly easy to ignore, but it wasn’t impossible either. He knew he was just playacting and he knew it couldn’t last, but it was easier than the alternative. He hung up and turned to Loki. “Don’t suppose you left any of the beer?”

“All of it,” Loki said after a moment. “I do not much like the taste of ale.”

“Good,” Clint said, “so you haven’t tried going on another bender?”

Loki looked away, face flushing very faintly. “No. I have not. It was…foolish of me.”

“Usually is.” Clint turned his eyes back toward the screen, though he kept Loki in his peripheral vision. “Want to get me one?” Loki hesitated, but then to Clint’s immense surprise turned back toward the kitchen and padded to the fridge, returning moments later with a bottle. He even popped the cap off, same as Thor, Clint noticed idly. Clint didn’t take a drink, just played with it between his hands.

“Thanks,” he said, after a moment, not looking at Loki.

Loki shrugged one shoulder. “You are injured. It is no trial.”

_Still weirdly helpful, though,_ Clint thought, but that wasn’t what he’d meant anyway. “No, I mean – thanks for calling Natasha when you did. You probably – no, definitely – saved my life. And you could have pretty damn easily let me die.”

Loki’s jaw worked. “I still need you for my own purposes, if you have forgotten,” he said after a moment. Clint snorted.

“When you first got here you seemed pretty willing to kill me if it meant pushing my friends into killing you.” He turned his head enough to look at Loki with one eye. “Nice try.” It was…interesting, hearing Loki try to spin his own actions into something selfish. Maybe he didn’t get it either. Maybe it made him as nervous and confused as it made Clint.

That thought was…kind of comforting.

Loki swallowed visibly. “After all this effort it would be a terrible waste to have your accidental death bring it to nothing,” he said, almost managing to sound cool. Clint turned his head fully to look straight at him.

“Would it kill you to just accept a thank you?” He asked. “I promise it doesn’t make you look weak, or whatever.”

“I simply do not want you to get the wrong idea,” Loki said stiffly after a moment. Clint snorted.

“Don’t worry. I still think you’re pretty much an asshole.” He fidgeted, fingers tapping restlessly on his leg until he made them stop. “But you did keep me from dying and call for help, and at least on this planet that warrants a little gratitude.” _Even if you only did it because you’re scared of being alone._

Loki was still staring at him like Clint had proclaimed that they were best friends and all was forgiven. It was beginning to make Clint itch. The fact that he was still just standing there didn’t help either. “I do not want you dead,” Loki said slowly, after a moment, sounding like he had just come to that conclusion.

“That’s good to hear,” Clint said dryly. Loki shifted his weight before pacing a few steps away.

“You were…kind to me.” Loki spoke slowly, haltingly. His words got Clint’s attention, though, and he turned again, eyes narrowing, trying to think what Loki might be referring to. The only thing he could come up with was when he’d talked Loki through his panic attack after the Chitauri.

“Yeah, well,” he said a bit awkwardly. “I didn’t want you to wreck my bathroom throwing a fit.”

“I do not mean…” Loki let out a harsh breath. “Not then. Before. When you were…mine.”

Clint tried hard to squash the part of him that thrilled a little at that phrasing, but – oh. Now he understood. He tried not to think much about that time, or had tried, but he knew what Loki was talking about. He remembered acutely the concern he’d felt, the worry, his attempts to cajole Loki _(his master)_ into eating or sleeping, the anger he’d felt looking at his pale, gaunt face and wondering _who did this to you?_ The memories still made him feel vaguely nauseous. “What’s your point,” he snapped.

“I know you did not have a choice. That you would not have…” Loki seemed to be considering his words. “Chosen me. But you still…I did not look for that sort of kindness. That sort of care. However false it may have been.” Loki’s hands opened and closed. “I have not…repaid that well.” Loki paused, and huffed a very quiet laugh. “I have not repaid it at all.”

_You could repay me by leaving._ The words popped into Clint’s head, but something held his tongue. He waited.

“I may not have been able to heal you. But I could not watch you die, either.” Clint saw the corner of Loki’s mouth spasm. “If I had…I could not even expect to deserve death.”

Clint had a feeling he should drop this conversation now and just wait for the pizza. He still felt like shit warmed over, and dealing with Loki at the best of times was a minefield and the best of times this was not. Still, his mouth was already running without him, asking, “why are you so sure that death is your only option?”

The look Loki gave him was odd, disconcerting. It looked almost…vulnerable. “Why are you so sure there are other options? Even if I wished to play at being human – which I do not – the possibilities, it seems to me, are thin. With a pack of wolves at my heels making it risky to so much as go outside, not to mention the problem of manufacturing a mortal identity – a task I once might have managed with ease but is now entirely beyond me.” The corners of Loki’s lips twitched, but the smile, if it was a smile, didn’t reach his eyes.

Clint rubbed his forehead. He couldn’t believe he was saying this, but… “If you went to the Avengers…made your situation clear…”

“They would help me?” Loki scoffed harshly. “Do you truly think they would do anything but throw me in a cage to rot? Or turn me over to your employers – or is it former employers? – who would likely do worse.”

Clint opened his mouth to argue, but…he couldn’t be sure Loki was wrong. _He’d_ probably vote for imprisoning Loki, if it came to a vote. “Your brother,” he started, and knew at once he’d made a mistake. Loki’s expression contorted into something ugly.

“Thor is _not_ my brother and I will _not_ go to him. I do not want his poisonous pity. He _let_ the All-Father condemn me to this.”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Clint asked, feeling suddenly defensive of Thor. “It’s the same thing, from my understanding, _you_ caused to happen to _him._ ”

Loki bared his teeth. Skinny and pale, the expression made him look positively unhinged. “His exile was temporary. To a planet that had no reason not to love him, and he did not have an entire species seeking his head. Thor knew what this banishment meant. He _knew_ it would be a slow and painful death, one way or another, and he stood by and did _nothing._ ”

“Thor still cares about you, god knows why,” Clint said harshly. “He’d help if you just _asked._ ”

“I do not want _his_ help. I do not want _help._ I want to _die._ ” Loki’s chin rose. “Why do you need to question that? There is nothing left for me. Not in this realm, not in any other. I will not wait for your authorities to find me and bury me, and I will not wait for the Chitauri to deal out their tortures to me once again. I should have perished a year and a half ago, and by some accident of fate I did not. But now - I am finished. Is that reason enough for you, _Agent Barton?_ ”

Clint’s mouth felt dry. He worked some moisture back into it. “There’s plenty left,” he said. Loki looked at him, lip curling.

“Laughable, Barton. You would not weep for my death. You only wish I would inflict the enacting of it on someone else.” Clint felt a twinge, deep in his gut, but he couldn’t exactly argue, at least not out loud. Even if something in him objected, a little.

“If you wanted to die that bad you would’ve found a way by now,” Clint said. His voice sounded cold and hard in his own ears.

Loki’s mouth twisted. “I merely wish to retain one of the few choices I may still make. I designated you my executioner.”

“Because you thought it was _fair,_ ” Clint said, still half incredulous about that particular bit of information. Loki laughed softly.

“Present tense, Barton. I _think_ it is fair. You simply have not accepted it yet.”

Clint’s stomach churned uneasily. “You need help, or something,” he said. “I mean, _psychiatric_ help.”

“I am mad, Agent Barton,” Loki said. He sounded amused, sort of. “There is one form of _help_ for mending that particular ailment of character, I think.” Clint felt sick and looked away. He didn’t like…didn’t _want…_ fuck, he was still dizzy and tired and in pain. He shouldn’t have tried having this conversation.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Clint said flatly. “I thought I made that clear.”

“So you say.” Loki’s voice was neutral, almost toneless. But at least he didn’t argue. Clint blew out a breath and looked at the TV without really seeing it. “I am glad you survived,” Loki said at length. He didn’t _sound_ glad. Just distant.

Clint turned up the volume on the TV and tried to empty out his head.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first rule of Lise's fic is that we don't talk about update speeds.
> 
> Okay the meme format is not perfect, but I'm still going with it. Here is the next chapter! I don't really have a whole lot to say other than that, and the fact that I'm still working out how to get to point D (i.e. the planned ending of this fic) from here, but I will get there. Eventually. Maybe in less than another ten chapters. So like...be aware of that?
> 
> And thank you, as always, for a) your patience and b) your very nice reviews. The latter especially. That shit gives me _life._ With extra special thanks to [the bae-ta](http://ameliarating.tumblr.com) (see what I did there!!!) for her help with...everything, basically.

“What are you doing?” Clint asked, emerging from his bedroom at 3:20 p.m. (which, _Jesus,_ how had he managed to sleep that late?). Loki did not look at him.

“What does it look like?” There were bits of paper scattered on Clint’s coffee table and Loki was bent almost double over it, scribbling furiously. He paused, pen lifted off the paper. “Hm. Would you consider paralysis one of your symptoms?”

This seemed…better than the way Loki had been when Clint got back, but he was still suspicious of it, and that question didn’t make him any less so. “Uh – why?”

“I am attempting to work out what sort of curse was inflicted upon you so that the source can be determined. This would be _easier_ if I had any of my materials…” Loki’s shoulders hunched, briefly, like he was expecting some kind of blow – or maybe just a nasty comment. Clint stared at him and crossed his arms.

“You’re…tracing the magic?”

“No,” Loki said, not quite a snap. His voice sounded briefly very brittle. “I am no longer capable of doing so. What I _can_ potentially do is narrow down the type of magic used in an attempt to at least narrow the field depending on the level of skill and complexity.”

“Ah,” Clint said. He limped over to the couch and sat down, his ribs starting to twinge. “To…identify who cursed me.” Loki’s head jerked in a nod. “Huh.” He considered a moment longer, and then said, “yeah, I guess I’d say I started to feel like I couldn’t move. That was pretty late, though.” Loki scribbled something under what he’d already written. Clint tried to peer at it, but he couldn’t make heads or tails of anything on the page. Either Loki was writing nonsense or in another language. “How long have you been at this?”

“The idea occurred to me shortly after you went to bed,” Loki said, tapping the pen against his lips as he stared at the paper. “Since then I have been attempting to recall anything and everything I learned about curses, and comparing those notes with my observations of your condition.”

Clint was starting to wonder if this _was_ actually better. “So…several hours,” he said. Loki waved a hand and Clint leaned back. “And have you…found anything?” He asked, carefully. Loki’s pen strokes stuttered.

“Not yet,” he said, after the space of just a breath. “Except that I am fairly certain you were not cursed with anything of Elfish origin. The symptoms were too elaborate, and not delayed enough.”

“Too bad,” Clint said dryly. “I always wanted to be cursed by an elf.”

“No,” Loki said, managing to sound both grim and slightly distracted. “You really do not.”

Clint narrowed his eyes in Loki’s direction. He couldn’t see his face from here, but the vague unease was only crystallizing. “So…not to say I don’t appreciate it,” he said slowly. “But…I don’t know how useful this is going to be.”

Loki finally paused, pen lifted above the paper. “No?”

“Yeah,” Clint said. “I mean, you can only narrow it down, right? Not pinpoint who exactly it was.”

“Do you not wish to know the identity of your would-be killer?”

“Lots of people try to kill me,” Clint said. “I don’t know most of them. And while a magic user might be a bigger threat…it’s pretty likely they’re either dead or way underground now. The raid was a bloodbath.”

Loki turned his head to look at Clint, straightening a little. “Is that so.”

“Yeah,” Clint said, relieved that at least Loki seemed to be listening and not arguing. “And then there’s – even if you did find something, how would I pass that information on? I can’t exactly ring SHIELD and tell them that _you_ gave it to me, and they’re going to have a lot of questions if I suddenly seem really knowledgeable about magic.”

“Ah. That makes sense.” Clint realized the strange note in Loki’s voice a little too late, and started to frown.

“What are you pissed about now?”

“I am not _pissed_.” Loki capped the pen, movements small and precise. “Thank you for informing me.” He picked up the papers he’d been working on and tapped them into a neat stack, which he stared at for a moment. There was not even a twitch of warning before, in a sharp movement like he was breaking someone’s neck, Loki ripped the papers in half.

“Hey!” Clint said, more out of surprise than anything else.

“If this is no longer useful,” Loki said, his voice – weirdly pleasant, “then it can be gotten rid of.” He ripped the paper again, the other way. Clint’s unease was only building and he felt like he’d blundered, somehow.

“Yeah, I guess, but-”

Another rip, and Clint could see the tension building in Loki, the way his breathing sped up. “You are not wrong. It was a foolish notion. I should have seen, have realized-”

“Loki,” Clint said carefully. He thought he’d been doing _fine_ and somehow he’d wandered into a swamp. Why did Loki have to make everything so _hard?_ “I wasn’t…uh, saying it was a stupid idea. Just that it’s…”

“Worthless?” Loki got up and turned on Clint, his eyes too bright and wild. “ _Useless?_ ”

_Oh,_ Clint thought, as he got it. _How about that._ “I didn’t say that.” He felt…weirdly calm, he realized. Not like he was going to lose it. And not like he was in danger, either. Loki was right there, teetering on the edge of something, and Clint wasn’t scared. When had that happened?

“Not in so many words,” Loki said harshly. “But I know-”

“Yeah?” Clint asked, raising his eyebrows. “What do you know? Still got a window on my head I don’t know about?”

Half of him waited for the snide _I know you,_ but Loki just jerked and looked away. One of his hands – the one with bandaged knuckles – opened and closed at his side. “I could do nothing,” he said abruptly. “You – _thanked_ me for saving your life, but I did nothing.”

Clint waited, keeping his expression blank.

“I should have been able to-” Loki made some gesture that meant nothing to Clint. “But you were on the floor and _dying_ and I was-” _Worthless. Useless._ He didn’t have to say it again.

“Yeah,” Clint said. “Most people are, in that situation.”

“I wasn’t,” Loki said. “I shouldn’t have been. I _should_ be…” He trailed off. Clint watched him.

“Why are you so upset about this?” He asked blandly. “When you got here you’d have killed me without blinking, and now you’re flipping out because you couldn’t heal me?”

Loki licked his lips, his fingers twitching briefly. “I…do not want you to die.” He said it like it was something shameful. Oddly enough, Clint felt…relieved. Like it _mattered,_ that Loki didn’t want him _dead._ Like that meant anything. (It did, kind of.)

“That’s real sweet of you,” Clint drawled, but he didn’t really take any satisfaction in the way Loki twitched.

“Do not mock me,” he said, but it sounded more plaintive than angry. Or just tired, like Loki was going through the motions, playing a role he knew he was supposed to have. Clint leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

“You did what you could,” he said, finally. “Calling Natasha.”

“I could not think of anything else to do.” There was some anger, there. “I acted like a _child._ Weak, foolish-”

“Loki,” Clint said. His voice sounded…weirdly gentle in his own ears. “Honestly. In this _one_ situation – you actually didn’t fuck up.” Silence. “So how about you throw out your guilt research and make me some breakfast, huh?”

More silence. Clint tried not to tense, worried he’d misjudged, pushed too far in one direction or another, and there was about to be…some kind of explosion. Maybe he should have his eyes open. Maybe…

“The only breakfast I am going to give you is a raw egg cracked on your skull,” Loki said, “and that kindness only because you are an invalid.” It sounded almost tentative, wary, but there was a note of caustic annoyance there as well. Clint didn’t let his lips twitch.

“How about a slice of toast instead?” Clint asked.

“Perhaps,” Loki said loftily, but a few moments later Clint heard the sound of the toaster ticking.

_Hey, will you look at that._

* * *

Things had shifted again. It was…weird.

The hostility was…well, not exactly _gone_ but definitely _dulled._ Not quite so important. Clint caught Loki watching him with an odd expression, like wary bemusement, but when Clint called him on it (“ _what?_ ”) he just looked quickly away and acted like he didn’t know what Clint was talking about. And he was…polite. Not even the chilly asshole kind that drove Clint up the fucking wall, but actually.

Clint didn’t know what to do with that. Loki being genuinely - _nice_ was the wrong word, but sort of – just wasn’t a part of Clint’s reality. So he opted for ignoring it, mostly. Loki seemed to be fine with that state of affairs too, which – good, fine. No problem. Everything just peachy.

Loki cleared his throat. Clint didn’t look up from the biography he was reading, though he felt himself tense.

“I would like to go out,” Loki said, after a moment. He sounded oddly hesitant. Clint waited a moment longer before looking up, just to see what Loki would do, but nothing happened. When he looked up, he was standing by the counter, fidgeting with his hands.

“Okay,” Clint said. “Feeling lucky?” It came out a little nastier than he meant. This truce felt…too weird to last, and he didn’t want to be caught off guard when it broke. When Loki flinched, though, he just felt…shitty. Petty.

“I thought that…” Loki trailed off. “Perhaps you have errands you needed to run.”

Clint breathed out through his nose. _Nah,_ he thought about saying. _I’m good, really,_ but he could feel Loki’s tension and, really, was letting him get stir-crazy really a smart idea? The main person that would end up screwed over was Clint, and if he didn’t want to be caught off guard he also didn’t want to be the one to ruin the fragile peace. He closed his book with a groan.

“All right, fine,” he said, resigned. “You want to go out. Go where?”

Loki blinked at him. “I do not know. Where…does one go out?”

“That depends on what kind of ‘out’ you’re talking about. If you’re aiming to go to a bar and bust another guy’s arm-”

Loki’s spine stiffened. “He insulted-” He started to say, and then cut off, visibly pushing it down. Clint watched him, almost fascinated; a moment later Loki took a deep breath. “No. I do not think a tavern would…you do not have places you need to be?”

“Not really, no,” Clint said bluntly. Loki looked at a loss. It was an expression that was…disconcerting to Clint, but he clamped his mouth shut.

“Perhaps…” Loki looked like he was chewing on the inside of his lip. “Are there…gardens? Places to…walk?”

“Yeah,” Clint said slowly. “A few. Some big ones. Nothing really close to here, though, and you don’t want to take the subway-”

“I can manage it,” Loki said tightly. “I just need-” He stopped, pressing his lips together, and looked away. Clint took the opportunity to stare openly at Loki. He still looked skinny (too skinny, a corner of Clint’s mind noted critically, a corner that followed the observation with a note that a good hearty stew would help, and provided him with a recipe). The bandages on his knuckles were gone, but Clint could see the scabbing; he hadn’t asked about it but he was pretty sure it hadn’t been accidental. The way things were going, it was starting to look like Loki might be less likely to explode than implode, which should have been a good thing (less collateral damage, for one thing) but…didn’t feel much like one.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “Yeah, okay. If you’re sure. We could go to Prospect Park.” _Let you off leash in the dog park_ was on the tip of his tongue, but half to his own surprise Clint didn’t say it.

Loki’s eyes cut back to him and Clint managed to hold his stare as Loki scanned his face and then licked his lips, seeming nervous. Like he was expecting Clint to pull the rug out from under him, or something, and that – stung. “Oh,” he said after a moment, and then appeared to manage to pull himself together. “That sounds…acceptable.”

“Oh, good,” Clint said dryly. “That’s a relief.” He rolled his shoulders back. “Give me a half hour to get ready.”

“Take your time,” Loki said, looking away again. “It is not as though I have a crowded schedule.”

Clint turned toward the hallway, then paused. “This thing,” he said. “You and confined spaces. Is that new? I didn’t notice anything when you were scurrying around in tunnels.”

Loki’s shoulders tightened and for a moment Clint thought he wouldn’t say anything. “It isn’t new,” he said finally. “I simply had larger things to worry about at the time. And enough keeping my mind occupied that I could ignore it.”

“So you’ve always been claustrophobic,” Clint pushed. Loki twitched at the word.

“I have never been _fond_ of enclosed spaces,” he said at length. Clint raised his eyebrows: he could smell an evasion when he heard one.

“Uh huh,” he said. “Who is? Not the same thing as claustrophobia.” He didn’t know why he was bothering to press. Spite, maybe, except that wasn’t quite right.

“No,” Loki said finally, abruptly. “I have not always been – so perturbed. Does that satisfy you?”

Clint shrugged. “Not really, no. I wasn’t looking to be satisfied, though. Just curious.”

“Just _curious._ ” There was something faintly bitter in Loki’s voice. Clint though about asking him – about demanding _so why’s that_ but it felt…sadistic, unnecessary.

“Be ready to go in a half hour,” he said, continuing on down the hallway. Loki didn’t reply. Whatever, Clint told himself. Let him sulk. _Yeah, because poking at him was so sensitive and adult of you._

He pushed the reproach of his own mind aside. Maybe if he was annoyed Loki was less likely to have a panic attack on the subway. All for the best, then, right?

* * *

It took both a bus and a subway ride to get to the park, but both went fairly uneventfully. Loki was tense and silent (sulking) but he’d brought a book and read it like a normal person, ignoring Clint and everyone else – including, to Clint’s relief, a subway performer who chose their car to practice his routine. Still, Clint heard Loki exhale when the emerged back aboveground, shoulders dropping almost an inch.

He still glanced around (mapping escape routes, Clint recognized, noting potential ambush sites, all the paranoid reflexes of someone expecting an attack) before he seemed to settle fully, tucking his hands into the pockets of his pants. Clint started toward the park, trusting that Loki wouldn’t go far.

He didn’t go far at all, in fact, falling into step with Clint with an ease that reminded Clint jarringly of those brief times when he’d walked next to Loki in an entirely different situation. Next to but a half step behind. Clint was almost tempted to speed up to be sure that. He wondered if Loki was thinking the same thing.

Probably not. Loki didn’t _have_ to think about it.

“What are you scowling about,” Loki said. He sounded more resigned than anything, as though Clint’s scowling was a storm to be weathered. Clint checked his expression and found that he was, indeed, scowling. Dammit. He was supposed to have better control over his face than that.

“Does a guy have to have something specific to scowl about?” Clint asked instead of answering. Loki glanced at him briefly.

“’A guy’ usually does.” The faint dryness to Loki’s voice came as almost a relief. Clint declined to consider why.

“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t.” Lame answer, and he could see the gleam in Loki’s eye that suggested he wasn’t going to let this go.

“So it is something to do with me.”

“Not everything is,” Clint said snappishly, knowing even as he said it that he was only confirming Loki’s guess. “Most things aren’t, actually.”

“When it comes to you? I would guess differently.” Like a fucking pit bull, Clint thought irritably. Loki had bit down on this and wasn’t going to let go.

“Maybe it’s just your company that puts that look on my face,” Clint said. To his surprise, Loki jerked like Clint had slapped him and looked away, lips pressing together as he fell silent. There was something like hurt that showed briefly in his eyes before it was gone. Clint told himself he was satisfied. _What, you think a truce means I’m going to play nice with you?_

Silence fell between them. It didn’t feel comfortable, but Loki didn’t keep pushing, so that was a victory (even if it didn’t feel much like one). Clint let the quiet stay, not willing to be the one to break it.

“I did not mean to offend you,” Loki said at length, his voice stiff. “Nor was I attempting to pry.”

Clint glanced at him, suspicious. “Then why keep pushing?” Loki shrugged, looking sullen, and Clint just shook his head. “Whatever.”

Loki pressed his lips together. “If remaining is such a burden,” he said reluctantly, “you may go.”

“Of course I may,” Clint said. “I don’t need your permission.” He glanced sidelong at Loki. “You’d really be fine with that? Me leaving you here on your own, with the Chitauri out there?”

Loki said nothing for a long moment. The corner of his mouth twitched, and when he spoke there was something faintly resigned in his voice. “If the Chitauri find me, with or without you likely the result would be the same. And I expect they will, eventually.”

Something cold and uncomfortable lodged in Clint’s stomach. “Have you considered at all,” he said, “the fact that if there’s something bigger and badder than you are – sorry, were – out there, it might be worth mentioning to someone.”

Loki’s shoulders tensed up and he scoffed. “Why? What do I care for the fate of the Realms?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Clint said. “Maybe you have even a shred of decency somewhere in there? Or how about this: you don’t want me dead and I live on this planet? Which – so do you, now.”

“Not for much longer,” Loki said blithely, and Clint felt a sudden surge of discomfort that morphed into annoyance.

“Would you _stop_ that?”

“Stop what?” Loki said, cocking an eyebrow as though he were truly unaware. Clint clenched his fists.

“You _know_ what. Throwing out casual references to your own demise.”

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” There was a trace – just a trace, but still – of mockery in his voice. Clint’s temper flared and he almost said _only since you’re expecting me to do it_ but that would just kick off another pointless argument that Clint…didn’t actually want.

“Yeah,” he said instead. “Actually, it does.”

Loki’s stunned silence was _incredibly_ satisfying. Clint kept his eyes forward so he didn’t meet Loki’s gaze staring at him, and he was staring, that look like he’d never seen Clint before. “Why,” he said eventually.

Wasn’t _that_ the question. “Don’t know. Just does.” Clint did look at him then, though he was careful to keep his face blank. Loki stared at him and swallowed audibly. He looked – _Jesus –_ vulnerable. It made Clint feel itchy and uncomfortable. _Don’t go soft, Barton. If he still had all his powers-_

But he didn’t.

Loki looked away, after several moments, ragged hair disguising his expression. Clint shoved his hands in his pockets. “You should get a haircut,” he said. “A proper one. Whatever you did to yourself, it’s a mess.”

“I shall keep that in mind.” An attempt at bite, there. It fell pretty far short of the mark. _Ah, fuck,_ Clint thought. He breathed out through his nose and stopped. 

“Look…” He trailed off, not sure where he was going. “Never mind.” He’d thought this was fucked to start with. It just kept getting more and more fucked, and here Clint was on the verge of losing his mind, feeling _sorry_ for Loki. “Let’s just keep going.”

Loki didn’t push. It was only when he didn’t that Clint realized he’d kind of wanted him to, this time.

Such a goddamn _mess._

* * *

Loki stayed in a brooding semi-silence that Clint didn’t try to coax him out of for the rest of the walk. When they got back, Clint made some excuse about needing to grab some coffee beans from the grocery and breathed a sigh of relief when Loki just nodded and didn’t ask to come with.

He took his time, stalling just a little though he wasn’t even sure why. He couldn’t say this was _worse_ than he and Loki being at each other’s throats. But that didn’t mean he was comfortable with it.

Trudging up the stairwell, Clint found himself hoping a little grimly that Loki would do something awful, just so Clint could remind himself that however pathetic he was now, the guy was still a complete asshole.

“Clint,” he heard behind him, and stopped, trying not to cringe. “I was wondering when I would catch you! Are you feeling better?”

Clint turned, slowly, working up a smile. “Little at a time,” he said. Mrs. Brustein looked…genuinely concerned, and he felt himself falter a little. “It’s a process, you know?”

“Of course,” she said, nodding sympathetically. “Now – I know how a good home-cooked meal can help. Would you and your, ah, friend join me for Sabbath dinner?”

Clint blinked. Stupidly, his first reaction was to think _you’re Jewish?_ which was just plain embarrassing. He was supposed to be observant and he hadn’t known that his next door neighbor was Jewish. Then it was just…bafflement. “Oh – uh,” Clint said awkwardly. She looked expectant, not so much waiting for an answer as waiting for agreement. “My friend?”

A slight frown appeared between her eyebrows. “Yes – your guest? The skinny young man with the black hair.” The look Mrs. Brustein gave him half made Clint think she might ask if he was treating Loki right. He thought he would have choked.

“Right,” he made himself say. “Him. Uh, you know I’m not…”

“Oh, I know, dear,” she said, which was alarming. When had she started calling him ‘dear’? What had Loki _said_ to her? “But you both look like you could use a hearty meal,” Mrs. Brustein went on, before Clint could figure out a way of politely refusing, “and you’d be doing an old lady a favor, keeping me company.”

“I guess I’d…sounds nice,” Clint managed, not able to think of a good excuse in time, and Mrs. Brustein beamed, reaching out to pat him on the shoulder.

“I’ll see you on Friday, then,” she said. “You and your charming friend.”

_Charming?_ Clint thought dryly, but managed to keep what he hoped was a reasonable smile on his face until she went into the apartment.

Then he let himself back into his and greeted Loki with, “what did you say to Mrs. Brustein?”

Loki looked up from his crossword puzzle, folded up in one corner of the couch. “Beg pardon?”

“What did you say to Mrs. Brustein?” Clint repeated. “She just…invited me to dinner. Us. Invited us to dinner.” _Us._ Shit, Clint did not like the sound of that. Loki hesitated.

“Very little,” he said slowly. “I was…careful. She asked me over when you were…” His shoulders hunched, like he was expecting Clint to hit him, or something. It made Clint’s shoulder-blades itch, that look. “Whatever conclusions she came to-”

“She called you my ‘charming friend,’” Clint said dryly. Loki’s expression did something odd, like he was torn between being perplexed and being pleased.

“I did not tell her anything about you, if that is your concern,” he said after a moment.

“And you obviously didn’t tell her anything _true_ about yourself, or I doubt you’d’ve gotten a dinner invite,” Clint said, maybe a little nastily. Something uncomfortably like hurt flashed in Loki’s eyes before his expression closed.

“I told her,” Loki said, voice cold, “that I was newly arrived in this country and was struggling to find my footing. She asked about you. I said that you were a – friend, permitting me to stay until I had a place of my own. That was, more or less, the extent of the information I offered. I decided that calling you a friend was less likely to raise questions. I _do_ hope you will forgive the presumption.”

It was…neat, Clint thought grudgingly. Explained things well enough, leaving holes that no doubt Mrs. Brustein had gladly filled in. Clint shifted a little. “She, uh. The one who helped you get food when I was…gone?”

“Yes,” said Loki. He sounded almost reluctant. “She seems to think I need feeding. I took advantage of her generosity.”

_Can’t imagine why she’d think that,_ Clint almost said, but he caught it in time. That brief expression of hurt itched at him, but he couldn’t figure out how to say something about it without apologizing, and he _did not_ want to apologize to Loki. Clint wasn’t the ‘bigger person’ type. “Huh,” was all he said.

“It is your choice,” Loki said after a moment. “If you wish to go.”

Clint examined Loki, who was sitting weirdly still. “Do _you_ want to go?” He asked slowly, at length. Loki glanced at him through half closed lids before looking swiftly away.

“Is that relevant?”

“Yeah,” Clint said, “obviously, you’re the one she really wants to see.”

Loki blinked, his expression doing something odd. He crossed his arms. “As you pointed out, she does not know who I am. And it is…your evening. You might have other plans.”

Clint felt the urge to rub his temples. “Just answer the question.”

“I would…like that, yes.” Loki said it warily, like he was expecting a trap to spring. Or maybe, Clint realized abruptly, expecting Clint to take the opportunity to refuse him something he wanted. _What kind of bastard do you think I am?_ Clint wanted to say, almost offended, but…all right, he might have done that. A few months ago, probably would’ve been happy to.

He shrugged, making it deliberately nonchalant. “All right, then.” He headed toward the kitchen, wondering if there was enough sausage left to make sausage linguini for dinner.

“—all right?” Loki said after a moment. “That is all?”

“Yeah,” Clint said. “I already told her yes, anyway. Taking it back would be harder than going.” He opened the fridge and poked around. “I’d tell you not to be an asshole, but it seems like you might’ve figured that one out on your own.”

“She is – kind,” Loki said. _Oh, so that’s all it takes,_ Clint thought dryly. _Should’ve tried that one._ He could feel Loki’s eyes on his back, studying him.

“Friday night,” he said. “Don’t make plans.” Loki let out a bark of a laugh.

“Thank you,” he said at length, voice quiet. Clint felt – a weird mixture of warmth and guilt. He didn’t really like either, but that wasn’t new. Clint had gotten used to not liking a whole lot of things, lately.

So. This was his life now: Sabbath dinner with Mrs. Brustein and Loki. Maybe he should just invite Natasha, too, and really make it a party.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said while looking for this fic to update it, "wow, it's been a long time since I updated." So, uh, sorry about that. I got stalled for a while for no very good reason, but now I am back! And at least...somewhat refreshed. I mean, I have an outline for the rest of the fic (planned: three chapters, maybe four, we'll see how that pans out) and I'm feeling pretty good about how those are going to go. 
> 
> And writing this chapter reminded me of why I like this fic so much. 
> 
> Though I feel like I should note that for a bit here this fic is going to be a little less "comedy" and a little more "black", though I suppose that's been the case for a little while. 
> 
> Thank you to all of my loyal readers, and also to [the beta](http://ameliarating.tumblr.com), who dresses up like Clint Barton sometimes but is a much better roommate.

The next couple days passed in a bizarre kind of truce. Loki was quiet, almost meek, and did things like take out the trash and washing the dishes without Clint’s asking. He wanted to ask what Loki’s angle was, but he also didn’t want to give away that it bothered him. _Why are you being so helpful_ sounded paranoid even to him.

He also had a feeling that deep down he knew why Loki was toeing the line. There was something he wanted and he was scared Clint was going to take it away.

Clint didn’t like that. Didn’t like that being his role in Loki’s head, being the asshole who’d pull the rug out from under his feet just because he could. Didn’t like the fact that Loki seemed to think he had all the power here.

Even if he did, kind of, didn’t he? Wasn’t that what he’d been shoving Loki’s face in for weeks, up to and including the fact that he could deprive Loki of the one choice he apparently really wanted to make?

That line of thinking just made him feel kind of sick.

“So you and, Mrs. – Freida, huh?” Clint said. The fact that he’d just now found out what the “F” next to “Brustein” on her apartment label stood for was probably even more embarrassing than the fact that he hadn’t known she was Jewish. Loki gave him a cautious, almost suspicious, look.

“What do you mean?” He asked, after a moment. Clint shrugged.

“Nothing. So she asked you over when I was gone, she fed you, and now you’re…friends?”

Loki’s mouth spasmed. “I would not say that.”

“What would you say?”

“I would say she feels the need to look after someone and decided that I was a potential candidate. I did not argue, since the decision was convenient for me.” Loki looked back down at his book, toying with the pages. “That is all.” Clint studied Loki, frowning at him, and said nothing. At length Loki blurted out, “she was kind.”

Clint raised his eyebrows. “Kind,” he echoed. _That’s what you said I was, too._ “That what it takes to win you over? Guess we should’ve just done that when you landed. Been _nice._ ” Loki’s expression hardened, his shoulders inching up.

“I was simply answering your question.” He sounded defensive, which seemed sort of unfair to Clint. What did _Loki_ have to be defensive about? “It is not so _common_ that I do not notice.”

Clint opened his mouth to say _might be more common if you weren’t such an asshole_ but he – stopped. Loki hadn’t actually been nasty today, and poking at Loki lately felt less like fighting back and more like kicking a bag of sand. Just sort of sad and pathetic. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “Whatever.”

He tried not to feel bad about the surprised, half-suspicious look Loki threw in his direction. He picked up an orange and juggled it back and forth, eyeing the kitchen. “Do you think we need to bring anything? Bottle of wine, cheese and crackers…”

“I do not know,” Loki said after a pause, a little stiffly. “I am unfamiliar with the guest-host customs of Midgardians.”

“And I’m unfamiliar with the guest-host customs of Jewish Midgardians,” Clint said, more to himself than to Loki. “Maybe a bottle of wine. That’s usually safe. Unless – does she drink?”

“She gave me a glass, once,” Loki said. He still sounded cautious, like he was expecting some kind of verbal trapdoor to open under his feet. Clint supposed he ought to find that encouraging, but mostly it just made _him_ nervous. “So I suppose she must, at least a little.”

“Okay, so. Bottle of kosher wine.” He twitched his leg, trying to act like he hadn’t noticed Loki staring at him. “What am I going to say when she asks how we know each other?”

Loki twitched. “Whatever you like.” There was a note of tension in his voice that had Clint glancing at him and frowning. Loki wasn’t staring at him anymore, or pretending to read. His fingers drummed on the cover of his book.

“What’s your problem?” Clint asked bluntly.

Loki’s shoulders drew up. “Do you want a list?” His voice was perfectly dry, but that just made Clint more suspicious.

“No time. Let’s start with what’s your problem _right now._ ”

Loki stood up abruptly, almost launching himself to his feet and pacing over toward the windows looking out on the alley between Clint’s building and the next one over. “What are you trying to do?” He asked, after a moment, turning back to look at Clint with his chin slightly lifted, nearly defiant.

“Do?” Clint said, a little blankly. “Uh. Make plans, mostly. I’d like to make sure we have our lies coordinated.”

“You can say anything you like. I am perfectly capable of following your lead.” This was weird, Clint thought, narrowing his eyes. Loki seemed – not just tense. Brittle. “If you wish to tell her you stumbled upon me unconscious in a pile of trash, you are welcome to do so.”

“You said it, not me,” Clint said, sort of a joke. Loki twitched again, like Clint’d slapped him. He stood up. “Seriously. You’re acting weirder than usual.”

“I am not plotting any misdeeds, if that is your fear,” Loki snapped, and _oh,_ Clint thought. _Ha._

“You’re _nervous,_ ” he said, starting to smile. “Oh man, that’s too good. You’re freaked out about going to dinner at some nice old lady’s house-”

“I am not,” Loki said, far too vehemently to be convincing. Clint hooted, almost grinning.

“Why? What do you think’s going to happen, she’s going to pinch your cheeks and tell you to eat more?”

A small tic jumped in Loki’s jaw briefly before he looked away. “I do not see that it is any of your business.”

“Sure it is,” Clint said. “I’m the one who’s going to be there with you, and who’s going to have to do damage control if you fuck up cause you’re too _nervous._ So what’re you so stressed about? I thought you _wanted_ to do this.”

Loki looked away, seeming to struggle for a moment before saying, “I do.”

“So is it that you think I’m going to change my mind just to fuck with you? Because fun as that would be, it’d be rude to Mrs. – Freida. So you can let that one go.” Clint studied Loki’s back. “Is that the deal?”

“No,” Loki said. Clint just stared at him, waiting. “I told you,” Loki said flatly, after a long pause. “I am not. Exactly _accustomed_ to being invited into Midgardian homes.”

“You definitely weren’t invited into this one,” Clint agreed. “But you’ve been over there before. So what’s the big deal?” Loki’s lips pressed together like he was angry at Clint for asking. “Hey,” he said, starting to get annoyed himself, “if you can’t answer a simple question-”

“I am concerned, in your parlance, that I am going to _fuck up,_ ” Loki snapped, and then looked mightily displeased with himself. Clint stared at him for a moment, and Loki’s nostrils flared, his lips twisting in what Clint recognized as an attempt to control anger. “There you have it. I have answered your question. Is my response satisfactory?”

_Yes,_ was the answer Clint should give. It clarified what was going on, after all, and beyond that was Loki’s problem. But instead he said, “what do you think is going to happen?”

Loki shrugged one shoulder. “Does anything need to _happen?_ Most likely I need simply be my charming and likeable self.” There was something so acidic about that that Clint almost winced. “As you may have gathered, I do not exactly excel at making friends.”

“Seems like she already likes you,” Clint said, and felt compelled to add, “for some reason. So all you have to do is not be an asshole, which apparently you’ve managed with her before.” Loki said nothing, not seeming reassured. “Really?” He demanded. “The prospect of _not being an asshole_ for a few hours seems that hard to you?”

“Yes,” Loki said, and then, “no. Maybe.” He shook his head. “It isn’t that.”

Clint stared at him. “You’re just psyching yourself out,” he said, not quite able to believe that he was actually saying these words. “Not a diplomatic meeting.”

“I was _good_ at diplomatic meetings,” Loki snapped, but it just sounded nervy and peevish now. “I – never mind. I do not want your mockery,” Loki said sullenly, and turned firmly away from Clint.

Well, Clint thought, this was weird.

* * *

Friday rolled around and Clint knocked on Freida’s (still felt weird to call her anything other than Mrs. Brustein) door, Loki close behind him and bottle of (kosher) wine in hand.

“Just a moment!” He heard, and watched Loki tense up, shoulders hunching slightly. Clint thought about elbowing him in the ribs and decided it wasn’t worth starting anything. If Loki wanted to act like a jackass, that was his prerogative.

The door opened and Freida beamed at them both, looking positively delighted. “Come in, come in,” she said. “Welcome – if you don’t mind taking off your shoes…”

“Uh – brought something,” Clint said, holding out the bottle to her.

“That’s so sweet of you,” she said. “No need, of course.” She patted Clint familiarly on the shoulder, as if they’d talked more than a few times in the hallway, casually. Then she turned to Loki. “And you, Kári! Good to see you again.” And she stepped forward and hugged him.

Loki’s eyes flicked to Clint, but he didn’t look so much startled as self-conscious. He looked away quickly, patting her back awkwardly, and Clint was saved by the arrival of Freida’s dog skidding around the corner and proceeding to bark ferociously. “Oh, Lieba, settle down,” Freida said, moving away from Loki to corral her dog. _Kári,_ Clint thought. Still a pretty memorable name for someone supposedly trying to keep his head down. Loki avoided Clint’s eyes.

“Do you require help with anything?” He asked, polite as anything. Clint narrowed his eyes.

“No, no,” Freida said. “Everything’s nearly ready anyway.” Lieba, appearing to have decided that she’d dealt adequately with the intruders, trotted over and poked her nose into Clint’s knee. He bent down to scratch her ears, looking around the apartment, which looked…comfortable, lived in.

“Nice place,” he said, and then wanted to grimace at how half-assed it sounded coming out of his mouth. The look _Loki_ gave him was scathing, which was just rich of him.

“Thank you, Clint,” Freida said, smiling at him. “I’m pleased to finally have you over. It’s so good of you to help Kári out while he finds his footing.” Clint shifted slightly, just managing not to squirm, and shrugged.

“Yeah, well…it’s not that big of a deal.” He glanced toward Loki, who was rather determinedly _not_ looking at Clint. “Um…what’s for dinner?”

“So modest,” Freida said, shaking her head a little. “You and Kári both.” Clint glanced sharply at Loki, thinking _modest?_ but Loki still wasn’t looking at him.

“It is not my modesty so much as an excess of your generosity,” he murmured. Freida laughed, almost a cackle.

“Such a charming, well-mannered boy,” she said. “Your mother must be so proud of you.” Clint felt his eyebrows twitch, and Loki’s mouth twisted, but Freida pointed a finger at him. “Don’t make that face, young man. If she isn’t, she ought to be.” Turning to Clint, she said, “Dinner is rosemary chicken, roasted squash and potatoes, and a green salad. And of course the challah.” She gestured at the covered lump at the end of the table.

“Sounds fantastic,” Clint said, still a little thrown. “Can I…really quick. Where’s the bathroom?”

“Down the hall, first door on the left,” she said. Clint nodded and hurried off.

He took a moment with the door closed behind him to put his head down and just breathe. “Charming and well-mannered my ass,” Clint muttered to his reflection. He used the bathroom and washed his hands, taking his time, and stepped out into the hall where he heard Loki’s voice. 

“No, it’s not like that.” He was saying. “He is – a perfectly gracious host.” Clint fell still. Were they talking about him?

“Really?” Freida sounded skeptical. “You look like you’ve only gotten skinnier since I last fed you, and you were skinny enough to begin with. You’ve got great big circles around your eyes and you’ve busted up your knuckles again.”

“None of that is his fault,” Loki said, sounding almost vehement. “I’m just-“

“I know, I know. In some kind of trouble.” Freida shook her head, clicking her tongue. “I just wish you’d agree to let me get some help.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Loki said, but then added, more quietly, “I know. Thank you. But he – Clint is a good man.”

Clint’s stomach did something funny. _I’m not,_ he wanted to tell Freida, in case she got the wrong idea, except apparently she already thought he was – what? Abusing “Kári”, or something? He wondered suddenly if that was what this was about – not just being friendly and neighborly, but scoping him out to make sure he was _good_ enough for her _charming, well-mannered_ friend. If Loki didn’t have _her_ going.

He made sure to make plenty of noise exiting the bathroom so they weren’t talking about him anymore when he came out. Loki gave him a strange, almost uncertain look. Clint ignored him and focused on Freida. She was the one he had to impress. He wasn’t going to have his neighbor thinking he was some kind of creep.

“Thanks for having me over,” he said, offering her a smile.

“You are welcome,” she said. “Of course. It’s good to finally meet my neighbor properly.” Clint wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be pointed, but he could feel his ears getting hot anyway.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, right.”

Clint hovered a little awkwardly while she lit candles and sang, not sure if he was supposed to know the words. He ended up closing his eyes and bowing his head a little like for the dinner-table grace he hadn’t said in twenty years, complete with mumbled “amen.” Loki, he noticed, seemed to be watching them both curiously, a look on his face that reminded Clint a little of the expression he’d had in the library.

“Have you ever been to a Shabbat dinner, Kári?” Freida asked. Loki glanced at Clint like he was expecting him to say something.

“I have not,” he said, when Clint didn’t.

Freida smiled. “If you’d like I can give you a bentscher with the translation so you can follow along.”

Another one of those glances in Clint’s direction before he said, “I would like that, thank you.”

“You don’t need to look at me for permission,” Clint said. “You know that, right?”

Loki flushed and didn’t answer.

* * *

When they finished with the singing and the hand-washing and finally got to tuck in to the dinner, it was delicious. Clint decided to go light on the wine, just in case; he eyed the generous first glass Loki poured himself and hoped that wasn’t going to be a problem.

They went through the standard small-talk – asking about Clint’s job (financial consultant, his standard cover) and what he and Loki had been up to lately. 

“How are you adjusting to living in the States?” Freida asked Loki. He laughed, which made Clint start a little even if it was wry.

“I am…adjusting,” he said, with a little twist of a smile. “Though it is certainly taking a while. There’s a lot to get used to.”

“Have you done the touristy things in the city?” She asked, half directed at Clint. “Gone up the Empire State Building, seen the museums…”

“I have not,” Loki said after a moment. “I’ve…ah. Been busy.”

Freida clicked her tongue. “Well, you’ll have to at least go to the Met, with your interest in antiquities.” Clint blinked, giving Loki a quick look that he didn’t return. “Though of course it’s more Greek and Roman than Northern,” Freida went on, apparently without noticing. “But it is quite the collection. I can’t believe Clint hasn’t taken you.”

“Yes, well,” Loki said, an odd tone in his voice. “It isn’t as though he has time to shepherd me around the city.”

Clint eyed Loki out of the corner of his eye and mostly for Freida’s benefit said, “we could go some weekend, probably.” Provided no supervillains decided to start funny business. Loki’s head whipped around to give him a look so perfectly startled that Clint almost regretted saying it. “Not that I really know anything about art,” he added.

“Well, that’s what the placards are for, isn’t it?” Freida seemed pleased. Clint had to keep himself from exhaling in relief.

“S’pose so,” he said, taking a bite of potatoes. Loki had stopped looking at Clint like he’d grown a second head, but he was frowning at his plate like he was still thinking about it.

“So,” Freida said, sitting up and smiling. “How did you and Kári meet?”

Clint almost choked on his chicken. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Loki tense. “I told you, remember? We worked together, briefly,” he said, eyes on his plate but voice convincingly casual. “About a year ago. So when I stumbled into New York…”

“Yes, yes,” Freida said, her eyes still on Clint as she waved a hand at Loki. “But I mean, how did you _meet._ ”

Clint coughed and had a quick gulp of wine to clear his throat. “Right,” he said. “Well,” and he was going to just say something vague and poorly defined but then he glanced at Loki who looked like he expected Clint to spill all his secrets and set down his fork. “It’s a funny story, actually,” he said. Freida looked intrigued, and Loki paled a hair.

“I don’t think it would be terribly interesting to anyone else,” he said. Clint smiled at him.

“Don’t be silly, of course Freida’s interested. That’s why she asked, right?”

“Certainly,” she said, looking at Loki. “Kári is so _very_ reticent about himself. Indulge me?”

Loki looked like he wanted to protest, but didn’t. He picked at his plate, not looking at Clint. “Well,” Clint said, “like he said, we were both working-” He took a gamble. “In Iceland. Beautiful country, have you ever been?”

“I have not,” Freida said.

“If you get the chance, you should really go for it,” Clint said. “Anyway – we didn’t really talk much to each other then, Kári and me. We didn’t really move in similar circles, you know how it goes.” Loki was looking at him out of the corner of his eye, and Clint pretended not to notice. “Anyway, one day we went on this hike along one of the rivers – pretty intense rapids, waterfalls, everything – and Kári’s a little, you know, sloshed. And-”

“He saved my life,” Loki said abruptly. Clint gave him a sharp look, but Loki was looking at his napkin, not him or Freida. “I was being foolhardy. Stupid. Clint kept me from breaking my neck. We didn’t speak much as a whole, but it was enough that when I came here looking for somewhere to stay…” Loki shrugged.

Clint closed his mouth. He’d been planning on saying something like that, he supposed, something that made Loki look like a fool and made him a hero. But hearing Loki say it somehow took all the satisfaction away. Maybe because he wasn’t embarrassed, just…Clint wasn’t sure how to quantify it, but it made him feel vaguely ashamed. Like he’d kicked someone while they couldn’t fight back, and he was getting tired of how often Loki gave him that feeling lately.

“Yeah, well,” Clint said after a moment, forcing an awkward laugh. “Not like I was just going to let him drown for being an idiot.”

“You would be surprised how many would,” Loki said. He folded his napkin and set it on the table. “I am going to use your restroom. If you will excuse me?”

He slipped out very quietly. Clint frowned after him, a little disconcerted, and noticed that Loki’s second wine glass was already empty. He’d be fine, Clint told himself. He’d managed to metabolize most of a bottle of vodka, even if he had thrown up somewhere in the middle and apparently had the benefit of some magic that’d keep him from going _too_ far overboard.

(How did that work, Clint wondered suddenly. Did alcohol quit having an effect once Loki’d drunk enough to put his life in danger, or did the spell just force him to purge? For that matter, what about stuff like exposure, heat stroke or hypothermia? He pushed that curiosity away, along with a vague concern that Loki might be showing signs of nascent alcoholism.)

Freida leaned forward. “Is he really all right?” She asked, frowning. Clint glanced at her.

“Sorry, what?” He said, mostly to stall for time. He knew exactly what she was asking; he just didn’t want to answer. Freida did not look impressed.

“Kári,” she said. “ _Is_ he all right?”

_No,_ was definitely the answer. Clint put his fork down, appetite diminishing as he glanced toward the bathroom, hoping Loki would reemerge and spare him the need to answer. He didn’t, and Clint cleared his throat. “Sure,” he said weakly. He was supposed to be better at lying than this. “There are good days and bad days,” he added.

Freida frowned. “It seems like he’s been quieter lately. Nothing’s changed?”

A lot had changed, but nothing with _Loki._ Clint didn’t think, anyway – except maybe it had. He could sort of see what Freida was saying, about _quieter._ He tried to remember the last actual argument he and Loki had had – _real_ argument, not just Loki getting snippy – and couldn’t quite remember what it had been about. For some reason that just made his skin prickle. “Not that I know of,” he said. He paused, then glanced toward the windows when he said, not entirely sure why, “He’s – Kári’s different with you. Than with me. He really likes you.”

The look Freida gave him was somewhere between surprised and scolding. “Now, Mr. Barton. I don’t know what sort of relationship the two of you have-” Clint almost choked on his tongue, and he could feel his face burning, “but it is plain enough to me that Kári cares a great deal about _you._ Though he seems under the impression that you do not feel the same.”

Clint wanted to squirm. “I don’t – we’re not – he’s just staying with me,” he said quickly. “It’s not like – it’s just complicated.”

“Hm,” Freida said, looking dubious, but fortunately Clint was spared further scolding by Loki’s timely appearance. Though he still felt distinctly disconcerted. What had Loki been _saying_ about him?

* * *

Clint watched Loki closely through the rest of dinner. After his brief retreat Loki seemed to have pulled out of whatever mood he’d been slipping toward and was back in fine form – well, fine form of _some_ kind, though not one Clint was familiar with. He thought he knew Loki pretty well, but this was a different one entirely. 

Except – not exactly. Clint could see the overlap, not like this was a different _person,_ but it still jarred against what he expected, what he _knew._ But not entirely. It occurred to Clint that maybe this was the person he’d been living with the last week: Loki had just been, well. Quiet. But here – this Loki had a wry, faintly self-deprecating sense of humor, kept asking Freida questions about what this or that _meant,_ or why she sang each of the verses of that one song three times, or why two candles instead of one, and seemed genuinely interested. As dinner went by – and as he drank more wine – he seemed to relax and open up in a way Clint had never seen, not even when he’d been Loki’s brainwashed minion. He stopped glancing in Clint’s direction every other sentence. Clint answered questions when they came to him, and tried to talk so he didn’t seem like he was holding himself back, but mostly he listened.

When Freida eventually looked at the clock on her stove and exclaimed, Loki’s face visibly fell. “Ah,” he said, and Clint could hear the slight blur in his voice that was no doubt a result of his five glasses of wine. “I suppose it’s time to go.”

“Well, uh.” Clint cleared his throat. “Maybe we can do this again. In a couple weeks, or something.”

“Or next week,” Freida said. Loki looked back and forth between them, eyes lingering on Clint.

“I suppose we’ll see,” he said, and pushed himself up. He swayed, and Clint reached out without thinking to catch his arm.

“Whoa,” he said, and Loki blinked rapidly.

“Ha,” he said, with a bit of a sheepish smile. “I seem to have overindulged a bit. I beg your pardon.”

Freida looked concerned. “Do you need some water, dear?”

“No, no,” Loki said easily, and smiled a little. “I’ll be fine. It won’t be any trouble.” Freida, to Clint’s surprise, looked at him like she was looking for confirmation. He tried to look like he knew what he was doing.

“It’ll be fine,” he echoed. “We wouldn’t want to keep you.”

Getting Loki to the door was a small ordeal, but he could more or less move under his own power. Freida embraced them both, kissed Loki’s cheek and patted Clint on his. “Have a nice night,” Clint said, and added, “good Shabbos.” Freida smiled.

“You look after him, young man,” she said, unmistakably referring to Loki, who was listing against Clint’s shoulder. Clint found a smile and waved before starting to walk Loki the ten steps to his door. It made his skin crawl a little, still, having Loki this close and leaning on him like he was.

“That was nice,” Loki said. “She is – sweet. Very kind.”

“Seems like,” Clint said, glancing at Loki sidelong. Was Loki just a talkative drunk in general? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what would come out of his mouth this time, if last time was any indication.

“Probably it is – it is taking advantage of her. When she doesn’t know what I am.” Loki stopped. “Maybe I should tell her.”

“No,” Clint said firmly, tugging him forward. “Definitely not.”

“It is unfair, though,” Loki said, still sounding concerned. Clint shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“You’ve done a lot of unfair things and _this_ one is what bothers you?” He said, propping Loki against the wall so he could get out his keys. Loki frowned.

“Yes?” He said. “Should it not – oh, I see. You mean that – if the other things do _not_ bother me then why should _this._ ”

“Yeah,” Clint said, not looking at him. “Something like that.”

“Well,” Loki said. “That – all of that isn’t _unfair._ It’s – bigger. Worse. And I can’t…fix it. But I can _fix_ Freida – not knowing.”

Clint glanced at Loki. That made a kind of sense, actually, and Clint hated that he knew what Loki _meant._ Some things were too big to look at directly, and you had to approach them from the side, never quite facing them headlong. He grimaced and opened the door.

“I don’t think that would actually help anyone,” he said. “Better not.”

Loki sighed, pushing himself up and stumbling through the doors into Clint’s apartment. “You are right,” he said.

“Say that again so I can record it,” Clint said, dropping his keys on the counter.

“You are right,” Loki said again, something odd in his voice. Clint turned to see him leaning against the door. “Oh, wait. You weren’t recording.”

“I wasn’t-” Clint shook his head. “It’s a turn of phrase. Go to sleep, you’re drunk.”

“No,” Loki said.

“You look pretty drunk to me,” Clint said. Loki huffed.

“Not _that,_ ” he said. “I am not going to sleep. Not until – I need to.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “It is _hard._ ”

“What’s hard,” Clint said dryly. “Getting from the door to the couch?”

“No,” Loki said. “Apologizing.”

Clint blinked, struck momentarily silent.

“I am not. I know I am not. I know it does not change anything, and it feels so – _useless,_ ” Loki said, and if he looked like he might tip over somehow his eyes stayed focused on Clint. “But it still – maybe it still matters, I do not know. And I am. I feel…” Loki trailed off. Clint’s throat closed and he suddenly very much did not want Loki to keep talking.

“You’re going to be pissed about this in the morning and I don’t want to deal with that,” he said in a rush. Loki shook his head and smiled, kind of awfully.

“I do not think so,” he said. “I am not sure if…I am not sure how much more anger I have in me. I thought it was endless, but – maybe not. Maybe nothing is.” His head cocked a little to the side. “I am sorry. For what I did to you. For stealing your mind and your heart, for…compelling you to love me. There are worse things I might have done, but – few, I think.” Clint’s stomach twisted inside out, and he stared blankly at Loki, incapable of finding words for a long moment.

“Why,” he managed eventually, but it came out as sort of a croak. He licked his lips and tried again. “Why. Are you sorry?”

“You deserved better,” Loki said, and then paused, and amended, “you did not deserve that at all.”

“You said _you’d_ want something like that,” Clint said. Loki shrugged.

“Maybe I would deserve it, then. Maybe not. But it was not…it wasn’t a gift, to you. I saw your heart and I wanted to possess it. But the best I could do was to steal it and – warp you to suit me.” One corner of Loki’s lips twitched. “It is a testament to your strength that it could not hold. That you are still…you.”

_I’m not,_ Clint wanted to say. _The marks you left aren’t going away, maybe never, I’m going to be stuck with that and with those memories for the rest of my life._ Another part of him just wanted to throw up. “You’re drunk,” he said again. Loki shrugged.

“It is still true when I am not,” he said. “Just easier to face, like this.” Loki’s eyes closed for a moment, swaying. “That is all.”

“What do you want,” Clint asked, a little wildly. Loki blinked.

“You know the answer to that,” he said, almost gentle, and Clint’s stomach knotted viciously. “But I am not – I am not asking,” he added, before Clint could even snarl _I won’t, I’m not._ “I just wanted…it needed to be said. I needed to say it. Whatever comes…I did not want it to go unsaid.”

Clint ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t – I need to go to bed.” Loki nodded. “I don’t – I _don’t_ forgive you,” he added. “If that’s what you’re hoping for-”

Loki blinked, apparently surprised. “Why would I expect you to?”

Oh, Jesus. He couldn’t do this right now. He couldn’t do this _ever._ Clint swallowed hard. “Go to sleep,” he said roughly. “Just – go to sleep. We can talk in the morning.”

Or not. Or _never._ Loki didn’t call after him as Clint went, but that didn’t actually make him feel any better.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I was going to wait to post this chapter, but then I had major delays on my flight so I'm going ahead. It makes sense somehow. In the spirit of making the most of this time in the liminal space that is the airport. 
> 
> Anyway - we're getting close, folks. After this chapter, according to my outline, there are three more left to go. 
> 
> It's going to be a wild ride from here to the end. :D
> 
> Thanks to my lovely beta for editing me into shape. And thanks to you guys, too. You're delightful.

Clint loitered around the bedroom as long as he could the next morning, hoping to avoid either a hungover or pissed off Loki regretting what he’d said last night. But when he couldn’t put it off anymore and emerged, the living room was empty, Loki’s blanket neatly folded at one end of the couch. Clint’s skin crawled uneasily.

If Loki’d wandered off and gotten himself killed, he caught himself thinking, and stopped short. If he did, then what? Clint was down one problematic roommate and the world was down one neutered former supervillain, he reminded himself, that was what.

But he just felt sort of nauseous about it. _Stupid._

He didn’t want Loki dead.

Maybe it was time to face up to that. Or at least look at it for a second. And he didn’t want Loki tortured by his former allies, either, though Clint wondered all over again how accurate ‘allies’ really was. He didn’t want Loki _here_ but throwing him out on the street didn’t feel like a good option anymore, and he doubted SHIELD would be enthused about the idea of offering Loki protection when he couldn’t do much for them. And then there was Loki himself, who seemed to be on a gradual downward slide toward…something, and that ‘something’ could turn out to be pretty ugly. If Loki got truly desperate-

But that was it. He’d _been_ desperate, but he didn’t really seem to be that anymore. It was like all the fight had just bled out of him and now he was just – something else. Something that led to drunken apologies, and Clint missed when things had been _simple._

Loki was probably just out for a walk, he told himself, pulling out the fixings to make an omelette. Stupid, but that was his choice. Maybe the fresh air would help settle the probable hangover and make him less grumpy when he got back.

But Loki didn’t come back for an hour, then two, and Clint started to feel genuine unease. For a moment he was tempted to call Natasha and ask if there had been any Chitauri sightings in the city, but he managed to hold himself back from that.

Clint got a call somewhere around midday and answered it without looking at the number, distracted and wondering if Loki might’ve gone to visit Freida without leaving a note. “Yeah?”

“Is this – Finn Errol?” He didn’t recognize the voice on the other end of the line. “I’m calling from the 20th Precinct-”

Clint stood up, his heart suddenly pounding. “How did you get this number?” Oh, _fuck._ He was going to _kill_ Loki – except not actually, because that was what Loki _wanted_ and Clint wasn’t going to _do_ that _._ If he’d done something to get in trouble with the police, though, Clint was not going to bail him out. He wasn’t. 

At least he’d remembered to use the fucking pseudonym. Which he apparently remembered.

“It was given to us by a man we brought in in association with a theft.” Clint squeezed his eyes closed. “He refuses to give any other information, but claims he is a…guest of yours.”

“What did he steal,” Clint said flatly, not really a question.

“Oh – no,” the voice on the other end corrected hastily. “Your friend isn’t the perp. Not exactly, anyway. Listen – can you come down to the office? He says he won’t talk to anyone other than you.”

“If he isn’t,” Clint started to ask, and then cut off. He blew a breath out through his nose, half tempted to say _no, fuck this, he’s not my responsibility and do whatever you want._ Even thinking it, though, he knew he couldn’t. If Loki panicked and did something stupid…people could get hurt. Even if he _didn’t_ and the Chitauri figured out where Loki was and tried to get at him, people would get hurt then, too.

(Some dumb, dumb part of him was _relieved._ Loki wasn’t dead. Just being a dumbass and getting picked up by the police, apparently. That was…better, maybe.)

“For fuck’s sake,” Clint muttered, and grimaced. “All right, yeah. What precinct did you say, again?”

* * *

Clint stepped through the front door and saw Loki almost immediately, sitting ramrod straight and looking profoundly irritated. He didn’t have any handcuffs on, which was at least something. And he was in the waiting room and not in holding, so he hadn’t been arrested, which was good, because Clint was going to draw the line at paying Loki’s bail.

Loki looked up and saw him. Clint didn’t bother to try to wipe the annoyance off his face, and something flickered across Loki’s before he looked away, lips a thin line. “What do you think you’re doing,” Clint said, and he had a moment’s satisfaction of standing looking down at Loki before he stood up.

“Nothing,” Loki shot back. “It’s absurd. This is absurd. They are being-”

“Shut up,” Clint said, before Loki could insult everyone within hearing distance, and looked for a police officer. One popped up quickly, to his relief.

“Are you Finn Errol?”

“Yeah. What’s the problem?”

“Let’s take a private room.” Clint tensed, reminded himself that he wasn’t here being arrested, and shrugged one shoulder.

“Sure,” he said, though it hadn’t been a question. He looked at Loki, who simply stood, brushing invisible dust off his clothes.

“So,” the officer said, glancing at Loki and then at Clint. “Can we talk now?”

“I do not see that there is anything to discuss,” Loki said tightly. Clint leaned his elbows on the table.

“Can I get maybe a short rundown on what happened?”

The cop looked at Loki, who inhaled through his nose and exhaled loudly. “I stopped a theft in progress and apprehended the thief.”

Clint thought of the man in the bar and stiffened. “What did you do to him?” he said, before he could think better of it. Loki’s stony expression went stonier. The cop’s ears pricked up.

“What makes you ask that, Mr. Errol?"

Clint glanced very briefly at Loki, and then sat back. “He just gets a little…overenthusiastic sometimes.” He wished he’d thought to ask Loki what name he’d given. “Just moved here from the Midwest where his family’s been keeping him. Bit of an adjustment period.” By the sharp look Clint felt Loki shoot in his direction, he picked up on the subtext as well as the cop did.

“I am _adjusting_ perfectly adequately,” Loki said tightly.

“Right,” Clint said, with unmistakably condescending reassurance. “Of course you are.”

“How dare-” Loki snapped his mouth shut, but his expression was furious.

“Sorry,” Clint said apologetically to the cop. “He’s harmless, honestly. Just a little…” he made an eloquent gesture by his ear, and the police officer glanced back at Loki. Loki bared his teeth in something that might be mistaken for a smile by someone, somewhere, and the officer looked back at Clint.

“Look, Mr…Enginnson. Your, ah, help is appreciated, but there’s the possibility that the suspect could press charges.”

Loki’s lip curled. “The suspect? I was under the impression that several saw him snatch the woman’s purse. I prevented his escape. And yet he is still permitted to charge me with wrongdoing?” He sounded genuinely affronted. Clint breathed out through his teeth.

“What exactly did you do to the guy,” he asked tightly. Loki made a dismissive gesture.

“Nothing permanent.”

Clint looked at the officer. “Possible concussion and sprained wrist,” he said, looking uncomfortable. “Guy was out cold when we got there.” Clint thought of the guy at the bar and restrained himself from saying that it could have been worse. “I’m not saying he didn’t do it,” the policeman added, in Loki’s direction. “Just that – even if he does get nailed for this he still has a right to charge you.”

Loki looked powerfully skeptical. “I very much doubt that will be a problem,” he said. The policeman looked confused, and Loki smiled blandly. “Will it suffice if you have my…friend’s contact information? If I am not _currently_ charged with anything, I should like to leave.”

“That’s – I suppose that’s fine, as long as - why don’t you think it’ll be a problem?” The officer asked.

“Given what I understand to be the abysmal inefficiency of your criminal justice system,” Loki said easily, “I imagine nothing will happen for the next few months, and within that time I fully expect by one means or another to have-”

“Okay,” Clint said loudly, interrupting Loki before he could announce his imminent demise. “I’d like to go home too, so, you were saying? My information’s fine as long as…”

“As long as you’re willing to vouch for the presence of Mr. Enginnson in the event further action is required,” the officer said, looking a little bewildered. Loki stood up, smoothing down his coat. Clint gave Loki a filthy look and was tempted once again to just leave.

“Fine,” he said. “I guess. For now. He’ll be back to give you his own information later.”

“Assuredly,” Loki said. He still looked faintly annoyed. “Am I free to go?”

The officer sighed, but nodded. Loki swanned out of the room, leaving Clint to give the man his address. “Sorry about this,” he muttered. “He’s, um…foreign.”

“Family?” The officer asked sympathetically. Clint barked a laugh.

“No,” he said, “thank God. Just…don’t ask.” He slung his coat over his shoulder. “Anything else?”

The officer hesitated. “Are you sure he’s…you know. Safe?” He glanced toward the door, looking briefly nervous. “I didn’t see what he did but the way some folks who did described it…for a second they thought he was going to _kill_ the thief. Sorry, I know he’s your friend, but…”

Clint pasted on a false smile. “He’s just a little intense sometimes,” he said, hoping it sounded convincing. “Gets carried away.” The officer nodded and let it go, and Clint hurried out. Loki was waiting outside on the sidewalk. “Well,” Clint said. “I hope you’re happy with yourself.”

Loki’s shoulders ratcheted up a notch. “I’m sure _you_ are.”

“Yeah,” Clint said, “because what I really wanted to do today was come downtown and drag your ass out of a police station. What were you _thinking?_ ”

“I was _thinking,_ ” Loki said tightly, “that I witnessed a theft and moved to stop it. I would not expect that to be such a crime.”

“It would’ve been if you _killed_ the guy. Or even tried to.” Clint shook his head. “For someone who’s supposedly trying to keep a low profile, you sure picked something that would draw a lot of attention.” Clint stopped abruptly, narrowing his eyes. “Wait. Is _that_ what was going on? Was this some kind of kamikaze shit-”

Loki spun away and started walking. “No.”

Clint resented being made to follow, but he did. “Then what? I’d really appreciate an explanation for this massive waste of my time.”

“I am sure even your _limited_ imagination can come up with something infinitely more satisfying than anything I might offer.” Loki’s voice was short and clipped and Clint stared at him, because he didn’t just sound normal-Loki bitchy: there were edges there, and he was suddenly wary of them.

“What are _you_ getting so pissy about,” he asked.

Loki sped up his stride and didn’t answer. Clint threw his hands in the air with a huff and gave up.

* * *

Clint hadn’t realized how used to the new, marginally improved Loki he’d gotten until he abruptly seemed to be gone.

It felt like Clint had just _blinked_ and they’d snapped back a month - they got back to the apartment and Loki said something derisive about Clint’s living conditions that grated a little too close to the old _white trash, no good_ bullshit. Clint snapped back and Loki raised his head and looked down his nose and said, “well, I suppose you can’t help it, coming from the stock you do.”

Clint wanted to punch him. He almost _did._ Just barely pulled back and stormed back into his bedroom instead, where he paced until his heart stopped racing.

It was the apology, Clint thought. Bastard showed _one ounce_ of remorse when he was drunk and now he was making up for it, showing his true colors again.

Well, _fine._ Clint had known it would happen sooner or later. This weird truce they’d had going was too – well, weird, to last.

Clint took a few more deep breaths and left the shelter of his bedroom. Fuck if he’d let Loki chase him out of his own living room.

Except then he got out to the living room and Loki was pacing back and forth like one of those nervous cats at a shitty zoo. His head snapped up when he heard Clint and he stopped, turning toward him. Clint planted his feet.

“Are you going to keep being an asshole or did you get it all out,” Clint said flatly. Loki’s eyes twitched sideways.

“I did not mean to cause you inconvenience,” he said, bizarrely. It took Clint a second to figure out what Loki was talking about.

“The police station. Right.” Clint shook his head. “That’s what you’re going to not-apologize for. It’s fine. Just stupid even for _you._ ” He expected that to get a rise. Maybe even wanted it to. It didn’t. Loki went back to pacing.

“Nor should I insult your breeding,” he said after a few more moments. “That is – beneath me. Or. Would have been, when I was…someone. I suppose few things are beneath me anymore.” His laugh was short and sort of ugly. Clint narrowed his eyes.

“What is this,” he asked warily. Loki twitched one shoulder.

“What is what?”

“Whatever you’re doing right now.” It was making Clint uneasy, whatever it was. “With the…whatever is going on with you.”

Loki stopped, facing away from Clint. “Nothing,” he said finally. “It is nothing. I should not have…snapped at you. That is all.”

This was bizarre, and Clint didn’t like it. “Uh huh,” he said slowly. Loki was staring at his bookshelves.

“Would you mind if I reorganized these?” He asked. “If you have a preferred system – no, that’s absurd. Something else.” Loki rubbed at his left palm, thumb digging into the center, and then turned abruptly to look at Clint. “Did you want something?”

“No,” Clint said. “I don’t.”

Loki’s expression twitched, anger flashing suddenly across his face. “Oh, no, of course not. You do not need anything from _me._ ”

“Wait, what?”

Loki took a step toward him, bearing shifting very suddenly from caged animal to prowling menace. “The great Clint _Barton._ The famous marksman. Never misses his _shot._ ”

Clint kept himself from taking a step away. “Back off, Loki.”

Loki was breathing hard and fast like he was about to hyperventilate. “Are you going to _make_ me, Agent Barton? _Hawkeye._ What _would_ you do if pressed, how far would you go?” A peculiar shiver crawled down Clint’s spine and for a moment he was frozen as Loki took another step toward him. “How often did you imagine it? Having me at your _mercy,_ only you would have none. How creative were you in your _black imaginings-_ ”

Clint’s skin crawled and now _he_ felt like hyperventilating, wanted to lash out. He could probably cause some serious damage if he went for Loki’s throat. Maybe even kill him. He could, he could-

_The fuck?_

Clint jerked back away from Loki, shock unfreezing him. “What is _wrong_ with you?” Clint exploded. “Are you _insane?_ ”

Loki’s teeth flashed. “Some have said as much.”

“You’re acting like something crawled up your ass and died,” Clint said, ruthlessly crude. “More than usual, even. So what’s the problem, huh? Why don’t you just – come _out_ with it rather than being a moody asshole, trying to provoke me, and – getting yourself detained by the _police?_ ”

Loki’s shoulders tensed visibly. “I was not aware my emotional state was of such concern to you.”

Clint jerked a little. “It’s not,” he snapped, even though part of him whispered _lie._ “Except when it’s dragging down _my_ quality of life, which it is. So either – figure out a way to deal and get over it or – no, no _or_ , just do _that._ ” His heart was still racing. This close. He’d been _this close._

“Oh, that easy, is it,” Loki said. A faint vibration entered his voice and Clint wound tight. _Oh, here we go,_ he thought, almost with relief.

“Yeah,” he said. “That easy.”

Loki took a half step toward Clint. “That is _monstrously_ easy for you to say, you being what you are, you have no _idea-_ ”

“Yeah, yeah,” Clint said, planting his feet. “Poor you, no one’s ever had it as hard as you do.”

Loki was shaking, breathing hard like he was going to explode, and Clint tried to brace for it but all of a sudden Loki just – slumped. “It’s too much,” he said, nearly inaudible, and Clint blinked, thrown off balance.

“What?”

“It’s too much,” Loki repeated. “I can’t – the dead. It’s all gone wrong, everything has been wrong for – two years, longer, but now it’s done and I can’t undo any of it. I think about it and I can’t breathe, I can feel it crushing me, drowning me, and I would look away but it’s always there now-”

“Loki,” Clint said slowly. “You’re not making any sense.”

Loki took a ragged breath. “What I’ve done,” he said, chest heaving. “Everything I’ve done. I was trying to think but I – there are no _amends,_ there is no _atonement_ or _redemption._ It never leaves, it never relents. It never ends. And it is never going to end, and I cannot – _cannot_ bear it.”

Whatever Clint had expected, it wasn’t this. He stared at Loki blankly, wishing he knew what to say and utterly lost for words. Loki wasn’t finished, either: he just kept going, words spilling out of him like vomit, his eyes wide and wild.

“But there is no escape,” he said. “Nowhere to go, and I do not know how to – _live_ with it, with the _guilt_ choking me and the knowledge that it does not matter, that _nothing_ matters. You say – _deal with it._ I do not know _how._ I do not know how to _deal with_ the fact that I am still alive when I _do not want_ to be, when I should have died two years ago. And there is no end. There is _never_ going to be an end, I don’t know what I am supposed to do, what I am supposed to _learn_ from this unless it is the utter _futility_ of – of everything.”

Loki squeezed his eyes closed and his voice cracked. “Perhaps this is – what was always meant to happen. What was supposed to happen. For me to realize – to understand that I have done everything wrong. I thought perhaps – but I still cannot be _done._ I _continue._ And I don’t know what to do. I do not know – what I am supposed to do.”

Finally, Loki fell quiet, the only sound his shaky, unsteady inhalations. Clint just stared, rocking slightly forward and then back.

It occurred to him that he probably should have seen this coming. With the apology and the alcohol and Loki’s slow downward slide from constant anger to…not that. The shit Loki had _just_ pulled, goading Clint like that, like he hadn’t in – a while. Clint probably should have _got_ that Loki was finally taking a hard look at the shit he’d done and very much not dealing with it.

There was a part of Clint even now that thought _good, he deserves it. He should have to know how it feels, have to feel a fraction of the grief and pain he caused because he had to take out his grudge on a planet._ Thought _this is the way it should be, he should have to suffer._

At the same time…another part of him thought _guilt doesn’t do shit. It doesn’t bring anyone back to life, it doesn’t rebuild buildings. All it’s doing right now is tearing him up._

But what the hell was _he_ supposed to do? Loki _had_ done some awful shit. Hurt a lot of people. He _couldn’t_ undo it. And he _was_ stuck in a shitty situation, Clint had to recognize that now and wonder if Loki’s dad had ever _had_ some kind of “plan” or if he had just been getting rid of a problem. He didn’t _want_ to feel sorry for Loki, goddammit, he _didn’t._

Yet here they were.

“Fuck,” Clint said at length. “I don’t know. I’m not your counselor.”

Loki slumped and looked away, and Clint suddenly felt like he’d said the wrong thing, and then felt pissed that he felt like he’d said the wrong thing. This wasn’t his _job._ He didn’t want to _do_ this. “I know,” Loki said after a moment. “I do not ask…I do not expect you to have answers.”

Clint forced a laugh. “Good, because I don’t have answers for fucking _anything._ ” Loki didn’t respond, apparently drained by his outburst. Now he just looked weary and burnt out, and Clint’s stomach squirmed uncomfortably. “Look,” he said awkwardly, at length. “You just – keep going. That’s it. It sucks, and it hurts, but you do it.”

“For how long?” Loki asked quietly. “How long is long enough?”

“I don’t know,” Clint said. “As long as you need to, I guess.” Loki’s lips twisted in a bitter, wry smile.

“Waiting for what?” He said, but the bite that should’ve been there just…wasn’t. “For things to get better? They will not.” Clint just looked at him, and Loki made a noise in the back of his throat and turned away. “Never mind. It does not matter.”

“What do you want _me_ to do?” Clint said. He was uncomfortable, and that made him defensive, and that was just _unfair._ “And don’t say killing you because that’s not on the table.”

“I do not want you to do anything,” Loki said.

“That’s an obvious lie,” Clint shot back.

“Then I am not _asking_ you to do anything. I do not think there is anything you _can_ do.” And damned if Clint hadn’t been pissed about feeling like he _had_ to do something, and now he was pissed about Loki saying he _couldn’t._ He opened his mouth to argue, but he couldn’t actually find an argument.

“Guilt doesn’t do anything,” he said finally. “Doesn’t help anyone.”

Loki made a brief, harsh noise that Clint translated as a laugh. “You think I do not know that?”

Yeah, Clint supposed he did. That probably didn’t help. It’d never helped him. “Yeah, well, the answer _isn’t_ trying to force me into beating you up, or whatever the hell that was. Pain doesn’t make the guilt go away and I’m not – your fucking _punisher._ All right?”

“No,” Loki said after a moment. There was something sort of awful in his voice that it took Clint a moment to pin down. “You are not.” Loki walked over to the window and leaned his hands on the sill, and for a second Clint thought he was just going to pitch himself through it. What would happen, he wondered. Would the suicide clause kick in and stop him? Or maybe just make sure the fall didn’t kill him. “I will not do it again,” Loki said, after a long silence.

“Good,” Clint said slowly, still staring at Loki’s back. This sucked. This _really_ fucking sucked, and now he felt _bad_ and he didn’t want this, he didn’t want any of this. “Thanks,” he added awkwardly, after too long.

“You are welcome.” There was thick irony in Loki’s voice. Clint exhaled harshly.

“I’m gonna watch something,” he said abruptly. “Blue Planet is on Netflix.” He walked over to the couch and dropped onto it, trying to look casual. Turned on the TV and started the first episode. He kept half an eye on Loki, still standing at the window.

When David Attenborough began narrating, he drifted over slowly, sitting down on the other end of the couch almost gingerly. Clint didn’t glance in his direction or acknowledge his presence, and Loki seemed to relax a little at a time. Or at least back down from the edge he’d been on.

“Oceans are weird,” Clint offered.

Loki huffed quietly, lips flickering very briefly toward a smile. “Indeed.”

* * *

Clint was more than a little relieved when Natasha called. “Hey,” she said, and sounded perfectly normal, not like she hadn’t talked to him since he’d been cursed. “How’re you doing?”

“Better hearing your voice,” Clint said, grinning. Natasha groaned, and a knot Clint hadn’t even recognized went away. “What’s up? I thought I was in trouble.”

“Oh, you are,” Natasha said, but she sounded only a little serious. “Which means you owe me. I’m working a job and I need some help from my friend.”

“You? Need help? What a day.”

“Mm. You in? We can meet for coffee, I’ll tell you the rest.” Clint tensed again. Translation: this line isn’t safe, someone’s listening.

“Sure,” Clint said easily. “I can do coffee. Just tell me when and where.”

“There’s a bakery on 41st and 12th. 5459 is the number – let’s say on the 28th?” Clint pulled over his laptop and typed in the numbers, translating to coordinates, and frowned. _Italy? What are you doing in Italy?_

“Works for me,” he said amiably. “Should I bring a change of clothes?”

“Mm, I think so. Plan to stay the night.”

“Got it.” Clint studied the map he’d pulled up. “Happy to help.”

“I’ll see you soon.” Clint hung up, frowning a little. Natasha hadn’t sounded concerned, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything, and she wasn’t just looking for something simple. It wasn’t necessarily unwelcome: he could use the distraction, and he was relieved that Natasha _wasn’t_ avoiding him – or at least, that wasn’t the only reason for her silence.

But…

But Loki. He didn’t think he’d end up with his apartment torn to pieces, and his fridge was pretty well stocked now – not to mention Freida next door and he could leave a little cash. But something still squirmed again in Clint’s stomach.

Since the business at the police station and the mess afterwards, Loki’d been on good behavior. Or, well, ‘good’ was maybe the wrong word. He’d been on not much behavior at all. Quiet, moody but not _pissy_ moody, just ‘retreating into sullen silence’ moody.

Clint drummed his fingers on the kitchen counter and looked at Loki, who was sitting on the couch with his eyes closed but plainly not asleep. “How much of that did you hear?” He asked.

“I wasn’t listening.”

“I’m getting called out.” Clint shifted a little uneasily. “On mission.” He waited, but Loki didn’t respond. “So, um…”

“Were you waiting for me to say something?” Loki’s voice dragged like he was forcing the words out. “I wasn’t aware you needed my blessing.”

“I don’t,” Clint said, hackles going up. “Just wondering if you’re going to be fine on your own or if I should hide the razors or whatever.” That sounded too much like worry. “Blood doesn’t come out of carpet and I want my deposit back,” he added. Better.

Loki made a weird stuttering sound that was probably supposed to be a laugh. “I will not leave you a corpse to deal with, Agent Barton. I cannot, remember?”

Clint remembered. He rubbed his hand over his mouth. “You weren’t trying to kill yourself when you busted up your knuckles, were you?” He said. Loki twitched briefly: what, did he think Clint hadn’t noticed? Or figured out what he was doing? “I’m just saying I don’t want you getting all knife-happy in my bathroom. Or anywhere else.”

His stomach clenched when Loki didn’t answer. What was he going to do if Loki said something other than _I’ll be fine,_ call off the mission? Try to Loki-proof his apartment in ten minutes? Give him the number for a crisis hotline?

“I won’t do anything,” Loki said finally. “I am just…tired.” Clint stared at him. Easier to do when Loki wasn’t staring back. He felt…vaguely shitty, like he shouldn’t leave Loki like this, but that was a) stupid and b) what the hell was _he_ supposed to do about it?

“Look,” Clint started, and then exhaled harshly and started over. “Just watch a movie or something, all right? Or go see Freida, she’d be happy to have the company.”

“Thank you,” Loki said after a moment. “Go well.”

 _Jesus,_ Clint thought. _This is fucking_ surreal. “Yeah,” he said. “Thanks.”

He’d figure it out when he got back. Somehow.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who started reading this fic expecting a snarky comedy: I'm so sorry. Love me anyway?
> 
> So, we're coming into the home stretch. After this chapter, at least according to my current plan, there are two more to come - one of those is basically finished (the last chapter) and another one is more or less half done. Lately my writing ability has been...sticky and unreliable, but I'm hoping that's going to change, as I think we could all use a break from the hellscape that is our current reality in favor of...something else.
> 
> It's been a hell of a week. Consider this a gift for making it through.
> 
> (A gift with...a heavy **warning** for suicidal ideation and discussion of suicide.)
> 
> Thanks as always to my beta, [ameliarating](http://ameliarating.tumblr.com), and to you guys, the readers who give me a little boost every time there's an AO3 notification in my inbox. Thanks.

Natasha didn’t believe in gentle landings. Within an hour of Clint’s arrival she had him in a meeting with her marks, bargaining with a bunch of very rich and very nasty businessmen trying to hire him for a hit. Apparently someone had picked up where Killian whatever-his-name-was had left off with Extremis and was cooking up something new. Someone looking to blow something else up. Clint was almost happy to have something simple.

“I’m trying to track down their supplier,” Natasha had told him, dropping a briefing packet in his lap in the car on the way to his meet up. “If I can get a name, or even a location…I’ve been nurturing a schism in the group based on the idea that someone’s trying to cut these guys out of the loop. Whoever they hire you to hit will lead us to whoever is working for that other faction. From there…I’m confident I can pull the rest apart.”

Clint grinned at her. “Ooh. Talk dirty to me, Agent Romanov.”

She gave him a flat look. “You’re hilarious. These guys are dangerous. They bring at least one Extremis-enhanced bodyguard with them at all times.”

“I’m always careful, Nat,” Clint said. Natasha shook her head, not quite rolling her eyes.

If nothing else, Clint could take some comfort in the fact that he was still good at his job. He got the name for Natasha, but that wasn’t all.

“It’s not Extremis,” he told Natasha. “At least, it wasn’t this time. The guard was some kind of cyborg. Mechanically enhanced, something.” When she cocked her head quizzically, he added, “it’s the eyes. Or at least, this time it was. I don’t know the ratio of them to standard issue muscle, but that wasn’t part of AIM’s repertoire before, was it?”

“No,” Natasha said slowly. “Not really.” She hummed under her breath. “Why do I feel like this just got more complicated?”

“Doesn’t it always?” Clint asked.

Holed up for the night in Natasha’s safe house, Clint made macaroni and cheese and tried not to wonder what Loki was doing back at the apartment. He could feel Natasha watching him and waited to see what she would say.

“Are you going to tell me what’s up with you yet?” she said eventually. Clint tried not to twitch.

“That’s kind of a ‘have you stopped beating your wife’ question,” Clint said.

“You’ve been lying to me, Clint. I don’t know why, and I don’t want to push you too hard. But yeah, I’m worried.” Natasha pushed herself up on her elbows where she was reclining on the couch. “It feels like I missed something.”

“Missed something like what,” Clint said, checking the cheese to make sure it wasn’t burning.

“I don’t know.” Natasha sighed. “We both have secrets. I know that. So I’m not saying you need to tell me anything. Just...oh, never mind.” She dropped back onto the couch. Clint felt a pang of guilt and turned around.

“I’m sorry,” he said honestly. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

“This meaning the mess that is Clint Barton?” Natasha said, raising her eyebrows. Clint made a face, and she half smiled. “That just comes with the territory and I already knew it.”

“Yeah, I guess you did.” Clint drained the noodles and turned off the stove, turning all the way around to meet her eyes. “Hey, Nat...when you were first recruited. Or whenever, I guess. How’d you deal with it? The...ugly stuff in your history.”

Natasha’s half smile faded and she looked away. “Clint, we talked about this. It’s not your fault. You weren’t-”

“I don’t wanna argue,” Clint interrupted. “And I’m not talking about fault or anything. Just...the feeling. The guilt.”

Natasha looked up at him, studying him. Clint waited, wondering what she’d think if he told her why he was asking. Or rather why he was asking _now._

“You already know,” she said. “A lot of it was about balance. Sometimes it was just about the fact that I’m...I was trained not to look back. To keep moving forward, looking forward. Looking back gets you killed, so I just...didn’t.” She looked back at him. “Finding people who kept me grounded.”

Clint smiled a little weakly. “What about feeling like...you’d never be able to balance it out?”

Natasha hummed through her nose. “Yeah. I knew that’s not...the way it works. It’s not about actually equalizing the scales. Just...getting them as equal as you can.”

“Yeah,” Clint said after a second. “I guess.” Natasha eyed him, and Clint said quickly, “I’m doing fine. Honestly. I’m actually…” He hesitated, but then went ahead and said it. “I’m doing _better._ I’m not back to normal, whatever the fuck normal is anymore. But I don’t feel like I’m losing my mind all the time either.”

Natasha cocked her head to the side. “That’s...really good to hear.”

“Good to feel, too.” Clint rolled his shoulders and started mixing the noodles and cheese together and dishing it into bowls. Maybe he’d try throwing the thing about _balance_ at Loki, see if it stuck. Maybe he could talk him into considering turning himself over to SHIELD as part of that. Get his apartment back to himself.

Some weird part of Clint’s head squirmed sort of uncomfortably, like there was something wrong with that idea. Something like _you know SHIELD would just bury him, powerless or not._ The image popped into his head of Loki in one of those tiny vaults in the Fridge. He’d lose what mind he had left to the claustrophobia alone.

“Maybe now’s a good time for me to tell you the bad news, then,” Natasha said suddenly. Clint turned around fast, almost dropping the bowl of macaroni he was holding.

“What bad news,” he said.

“Remember the squads of Chitauri?” Natasha said. “The ones poking around the city? They’ve started to converge in one place. Bed-Stuy.”

_Oh, shit._ Clint’s mouth went dry and he just blinked at Natasha, who looked back at him, her expression sober. _Coincidence,_ he wanted to croak, for her benefit, if she guessed, if she knew what they were looking for - that they were looking for _Loki_ , and connected the dots-

“It might not have anything to do with you,” she said, her voice the quality of calm that meant she was trying to soothe. “It could be totally unrelated. I’ve told Fury to put extra eyes on the ground, especially around your apartment.”

Oh, Clint realized. She thought they were looking for _him._ “Why me?” He asked. There was a bizarre itch in the back of his mind that said _call Loki, he needs to know, he could already be gone._

“I don’t know,” Natasha said. “But obviously our first priority is protecting you.”

“Right,” Clint said, a little weakly. He picked up the other bowl and walked over, handing it to Natasha and sinking down into the other chair.

“You haven’t seen any, have you?” Natasha asked. Clint shook his head almost automatically, thinking of the shock up through his arm as he’d jammed his knife into a Chitauri brain stem.

“No, I haven’t.”

Natasha seemed to relax slightly. “Well, that’s something,” she said. “Let’s hope it stays that way, and we can convince these stragglers that whatever they’re trying to do isn’t worth it.”

Loki didn’t seem to think they were going to give up until they found him. Clint wished he thought that was just paranoia, but he didn’t actually think it was.

And Loki was on his own, Clint realized. He’d been thinking about external threats, but if the Chitauri got gutsy enough – or Loki got restless and stupid…he half twitched for his phone to call before remembering that Loki didn’t have a phone, or any way Clint could contact him.

For a half second he considered calling Freida and asking her to check on him, but he shoved that idea away. _Stupid. Why are you fussing about this so much? It’s his life._

The thought had never been weaker or less convincing.

* * *

Clint got on the plane back only a little singed and trying (hard) not to worry. Everything was going to be fine. Maybe Loki would’ve taken a nice long nap and come out of his funk and everything would just be peachy.

He took the elevator rather than the stairs, half expecting to run into Freida in the hallway, but it was clear. “Hey,” he said, letting himself into the apartment. “I’m home.”

Loki did indeed look like he’d been napping, his hair a little mussed on one side, blinking at Clint. It would’ve been funnier if it weren’t five o’clock in the evening, and if there wasn’t a definite mustiness to the air. “Welcome back,” Loki said after a moment. Clint dropped his bag on the floor.

“Yuh huh. I hope you didn’t just sleep the whole time I’ve been gone.”

Loki shook his head slightly. “I did not.” Clint looked at him, waiting, but he didn’t volunteer what he _had_ been doing. There weren’t any new bandages on his hands, but maybe he’d just switched it up now that he knew Clint had noticed.

“You say hi to Freida?”

“We had lunch,” Loki said. He rubbed his eyes, voice sounding like he was having a hard time waking up.

“Good,” Clint said awkwardly. “That’s…good.”

He showered and changed quickly and checked the fridge. Mostly empty, but at least the money he’d left on the counter was gone, so hopefully that meant Loki’d gone grocery shopping. As soon as the thought finished, Clint stopped and stared at his pantry.

_What are you doing?_ He thought. _Worrying about his sleeping habits, eating habits, whether he’s pulling some self-harm bullshit? He’s a big damn inconvenience. Remember?_

Why was it getting so damn _hard_ to keep track of that?

Clint closed the cabinet door a little too hard, scowling. He caught Loki watching him and scowled at him, too. “What?”

“Did all go well?” He asked almost gingerly. Clint stared at him for a long moment trying to figure out why he was asking and finally shrugged.

“Decently, yeah. Nothing’s broken, so that’s better than sometimes.”

Loki’s lips twitched very faintly. “I suppose it is. And no magical poison.”

“Not this time.” Natasha still hadn’t dug up her target, but she was well on her way. That was more than he needed to tell Loki, though.

“Good,” Loki said, looking at his hands. “That’s good.” Almost an exact echo of what Clint had said earlier. Clint eyed him.

“So other than lunch with Freida…what’d you do with your summer vacation?” Loki shrugged loosely.

“Very little of interest.”

Clint narrowed his eyes. “And not of interest?”

Loki chuffed, lips twisting at one corner toward an ironic and mirthless smile. “I promise you I was not plotting anything nefarious, Agent Barton. I think my scheming days are behind me.”

Clint didn’t like the sound of that. He fidgeted uneasily. “Yeah? Turning over an honest new leaf?”

Loki’s eyes half closed. “I suppose something like that.”

_You’re freaking me out and I don’t like it,_ Clint thought, but there was no way in hell he was going to say that. He walked over to the couch, but he didn’t even have to tell Loki to move over: he did it without asking. Clint sat down, remembering what Natasha had said. “I was thinking I’d invited Freida over for dinner. Since she hosted us – me, and all.”

“I am sure she would be pleased,” Loki said. He didn’t sound unhappy, Clint realized. He just didn’t sound much of anything. The back of his neck itched in a warning he didn’t quite understand.

“Did you go out at all?” Clint asked. “Walking, or to the library…”

“Why?” Loki asked, finally glancing at Clint. He shrugged, and Loki looked away. “Only briefly.”

_Sounds like you were doing a whole lot of nothing,_ Clint thought. _Pathetic bastard._ It had a lot more sympathy than he wanted it to have. His neck was still itching uneasily, and he thought again about the other thing Loki should know.

Or should he? It might just freak him out. Make everything worse when it was already pretty shit.

No, Clint decided. Loki deserved to be aware of the potential threat. And at this point Clint thought he’d even take panic over this weird, affectless apathy. Maybe it would kickstart some kind of survival instinct.

“The Chitauri’ve narrowed their search to this neighborhood,” Clint said, propping his elbows on his knees. Loki, to his surprise, didn’t react. Or hardly reacted. “Did you hear me?” Clint said, frowning.

“I heard you.”

He couldn’t read what was in Loki’s voice, but something uneasy crawled down his spine. “And? What are you going to do about it?”

Loki blinked slowly but didn’t respond.

“Come on,” Clint said, more harshly. “Don’t freak out now. Look, I’ve been thinking, and if you go to the Avengers - not SHIELD, the _Avengers,_ maybe Steve or even Nat if you can’t deal with talking to Thor, they’d help. I’m sure of it. Especially if you gave them some kind of intel on the Chitauri or, or whoever’s leading them now.” Loki twitched but didn’t speak, and Clint pressed on. “And okay, yeah, you’d probably end up in a cell, but that’s got to be better than torture. And you’d have your own bed instead of a couch. That’s something, right?”

Nothing, not even a glance in his direction or a flicker of irritation. Just another slow blink like Loki hadn’t quite worked his way through Clint’s initial words, and it was starting to freak him out.

“Hey,” he said, raising his voice a notch. “Are you listening to me?”

“Yes,” Loki said. “It won’t work.”

Clint set his feet, belligerent. “Why not? Why couldn’t it? Seems to me like you don’t have a lot of other options on the table here.”

Loki looked up, finally, a peculiar expression on his face. “You are very invested in this all of a sudden.”

“I told you,” Clint said defensively. “I’m not a monster, and I don’t like the Chitauri.”

“Indeed you are not,” Loki murmured, and nothing else. Clint shifted.

“Besides,” he said. “Freida would cry if anything happened to you.” Still nothing. Clint chewed on the inside of his cheek. “And maybe I don’t exactly want you dead either,” he added, quickly, like he could deny it if he just said it fast enough.

“Is that so,” Loki said, after a pause. It sounded more like he was speaking to himself, but Clint still answered.

“Maybe,” he said defensively. “Don’t get excited, I don’t _like_ you or anything.”

“Mm.” Loki rocked forward with a slow exhale, and then stood.

“All right,” Clint said slowly, pushing himself to his feet as well. “So-”

“I would like to thank you, Clint Barton,” Loki said, before Clint could ask what he was going to do. Still in that weird, sort of distracted voice. “You have been...impossibly gracious. Very far indeed from anything I would have expected.”

“Wait,” Clint said. “Are you - are you _leaving?_ ”

Loki cocked his head to the side, the motion weirdly deliberate. “Yes?”

“You’re - hold on,” Clint said. “You mean you’re going to go run some errands or something, right? Return some of those library books you have checked out on my card-”

“I returned them.” Loki regarded Clint with seemingly perfect calm. “It is clear to me that my presence here is putting you at risk. That would be - very poor repayment indeed, and I would not wish to...incur an even greater debt than I already have.” His voice was clear and measured and affectless. “I have imposed on you quite long enough.”

“Hey,” Clint said, not caring how loud his voice was. “Hey, you can’t just - _now_ you’re going to decide to cut and run? Are you insane? You’re going to-” He stopped, realizing what he’d been about to say. The first hint of a smile flickered around Loki’s mouth.

“Get myself killed?” He said, almost gently. “Isn’t that rather the point?”

Clint’s stomach lurched and he felt a little like someone had just picked up the snowglobe he was standing in and shook it around. Jarred out of alignment, something vaguely panicky thrumming under his sternum and a whisper of _you should’ve seen this coming. You knew he was spiraling, you knew he was_ suicidal _and waved a big flag in his face that says Death This Way-_

This wasn’t supposed to be his goddamn responsibility. _Loki_ wasn’t. And now Loki was fucking _offering_ to piss off for good and all Clint was thinking was _don’t leave._

“Don’t be stupid,” Clint snapped. “That’s bullshit. It’s - _cowardice._ You’re just going to duck out because things are a little tough, come on-”

Loki just looked at him, seemingly untroubled. Like nothing could touch him. Like he was already fucking _gone._

“You _owe_ me,” Clint said more loudly. “Remember? You said it, you’ve got a _debt,_ how are you supposed to settle that if you die, huh? Did you forget that?”

“You and I both know that there is no settling the debt that I owe you,” Loki said. “I should hope at the very least the removal of a not insubstantial inconvenience would offer some small amelioration.”

“Cut that the fuck out,” Clint said, his voice still rising. “ _The removal of an inconvenience -_ if you’re going to throw yourself on a sword at least call it what it _is._ Or don’t, because that’s _stupid,_ and doesn’t that count as against the rules anyway-”

“It does not,” Loki said smoothly. “It seems that reckless self-endangerment is perfectly acceptable so long as there is no _plan._ ” Clint stared at him, mouth hanging open, and Loki shrugged one shoulder. “I tested it. Nothing stops me from walking on top of the railing of a bridge until I think about falling.”

Clint felt sick. Deep in his stomach nauseous. He swallowed twice, hard. “No,” he said, a little raw. “That’s – _no._ Don’t be _stupid._ This is some melodramatic impulse bullshit. You’re freaking out so you’re just – jumping to the worst possible conclusion-”

“Clint – Agent Barton,” Loki corrected himself. “It speaks well of you that you feel you ought to object, but please. You really needn’t.”

“What about Freida, huh?” Clint demanded, ignoring that. _Ought to object._ Yeah, if only it were that simple, if only he were just kicking up a fuss for _form,_ because he was _supposed_ to. “Think about how upset she’s going to be, she fucking _loves_ you-”

Loki twitched one shoulder. “If she loves anyone it is a shadow. A character, as much a fiction as any in your books.” He smiled faintly in a way that didn’t reach his eyes. “You said it yourself, did you not? That I would never have gotten an invitation to dinner if I told her anything true about myself?”

“Do you remember every word I say or just the shitty ones,” Clint said. “It’s not like she knows who _I_ am, either.”

“You know very well that is not the same.”

It wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t. Clint still wanted to pull his hair out. “That doesn’t change how upset she’s going to be.”

“I told her while you were gone that I was probably going to be moving away soon.” God damn, but Clint wished Loki would lose that eerie fucking _calm._ He jerked a little.

“You told her – wait, you were _already_ planning this stunt?”

Loki sighed. “It is clear to me that I cannot _make_ you kill me, and it was…unfair to ask you to do so in the first place. You are an assassin, not a murderer: a fine distinction but a distinction nonetheless. And that is…your choice. I should respect _that_ , at the least. Then there is the fact that you do have a life: I stole that from you once and I should not continue to do so a second time. You deserve better.”

“What do you know about what I deserve,” was what burst out of Clint’s mouth. Loki’s lips quirked.

“More than most, maybe,” he said. “At any rate – I knew I would have to leave soon. This news only makes that more clear.”

“You can’t-” Clint cut off, clenching his teeth. “You can’t fucking _do_ that. Just, just _walk out-_ ” He took a harsh breath. “Fuck you. And sit down.”

Loki’s eyebrows pulled very slightly together. “Pardon?”

Clint pointed at the couch. “Sit. _Down._ Just – sleep on it. At least. All right? Give it a day before you make any stupid, drastic decisions.”

Loki just looked at him blankly. “I was not asking,” he started to say.

“I don’t care,” Clint said harshly. “You _owe me._ So sit. Stay. Twenty-four hours. Think about _my_ suggestion.”

Loki didn’t move to sit down. “I know what I want, Agent Barton.”

“Too bad,” Clint snapped. “You don’t _get_ what you want.”

Loki still didn’t move. “I’m not asking either,” Clint said. “You said it, that you can’t pay back what you owe me. You’re right, you can’t. That’s not even how it works, anyway. But if you’re alive you can – do _something._ Not make it all go away but not just _quit._ And you can’t do a damn thing if you’re dead. Besides, all you’re doing now is, is making a different kind of choice without asking me. So if you’re trying to do better by me, well then, start with sitting _the fuck_ down.”

Finally, _finally,_ Loki sat down. Slowly, like his joints hurt doing it. Clint’s heart eased back a couple notches from the gallop it’d started doing. “There,” he said harshly. “That’s better.”

Loki shook his head slowly. “You have always known that there was only one way this could end, Agent Barton.”

“I don’t know a damn thing,” Clint said. “Except that that’s defeatist bullshit. And for fuck’s sake, call me Clint. If you’re going to talk committing suicide on my behalf, it might as well be on a first name basis.”

Loki said nothing, just looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed. Clint jabbed a finger in his direction. “Swear. All right? Swear you’re not going to _do anything_ at least for the next day.”

Loki sighed, finally, and looked away. “I swear.”

“The whole thing,” Clint said, relentless. Loki looked like he wanted to roll his eyes. _Good,_ Clint thought savagely. That was something other than the weird hollow affectless shit, at least.

“I swear that I will not _do anything_ for the next twenty-four hours.” He paused. “I am not going to change my mind.”

“Neither am I,” Clint said belligerently. “So just – just _chill._ ” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m going to go back to my room. You’re not going to punch any walls or get happy with knives. That clear?”

“It is clear.”

“Good,” Clint said. “It damn well better be.” He turned on his heel and stalked down the hall to his bedroom, closing the door a little too hard.

He almost fell back against it, the adrenaline leaving him all at once. He’d thought he was going to feel like yelling, or punching something, but now that there was a wall between him and Loki and his bullshit death wish, he just felt _tired._

He didn’t want to do this. Didn’t want to be fighting Loki, _fucking Loki,_ for Loki’s life. _Just let him go. Let him leave._

He wished he could just dump Loki on some therapist and run hard in the other direction. Get a long, long way from this surreal nightmare that his life had turned into. Clint didn’t know that there were any therapists in New York who deserved that punishment, though.

Clint wandered over to the bed and sat down. He wondered if he should just go tell the Avengers behind Loki’s back. He had a feeling, though, that if Loki got even a hint of it he’d bolt.

He stopped, frowning at the realization that _that_ was his first thought: not Loki targeting Natasha. He realized with a jolt that he didn’t think Loki would do that now – ruin her life like he’d promised in the beginning. He’d just run, because apparently in some fucked up way he _cared._

And that wasn’t just Loki, Clint had to reluctantly acknowledge. _He_ did, too. Not in the blind, pure way from – before, when he would’ve cut his own throat if Loki’d asked. He knew everything Loki was: fucked up, damaged, cruel, arrogant. But for all the faults…he wasn’t _always_ that bad.

He could see the shreds, now, of what Thor must be thinking of when he imagined Loki. Like looking at a broken statue and seeing where the arms should go. It was there, a Loki Clint could almost imagine liking, buried under all the shit.

There was something horribly hilarious about the fact that Clint was getting better while Loki spiraled down. Poetic, probably, especially since it was probably at least a little down to Loki that Clint _was_ getting better, however unintended a consequence it was.

Fuck _poetic._ Clint wasn’t _done_ with him.

There was probably a Lifetime movie like this. _Twenty-four hours to convince a suicidal alien to live._ It’d be fine. Once Loki calmed down and thought about it he’d…

He’d what? Change his mind? Clint remembered the crazy gleam in Loki’s eyes that first night. _Odin denied me a quick death. I was always resourceful._

“Fuck,” Clint whispered. “Fucking… _fuck._ ” He took a deep breath through his nose. “So, uh…if there are any Norse gods listening out there, now would be a _really_ good time to do something. If you care about the fact that your kid is probably going to die.”

There was no answer, of course. Clint couldn’t say he was surprised.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a warning for this chapter that is also a huge **spoiler** that I would rather you didn't read, but if you're feeling nervous: click to the end notes and find it there. 
> 
> And that's all I'm going to say here, other than to note that a) the final chapter of this fic is written, pending edits and b) huge pile of thanks to my beta [ameliarating](http://ameliarating.tumblr.com), who has done so much work with this and all my fanfiction. 
> 
> Also, this is the chapter of this fic that I've been waiting to post for almost four years. I'm _so excited_ to finally get to share it.

How did you give a suicidal ex-alien a reason to live?

_It’s a Wonderful Life_ this wasn’t. And Clint was very much not Clarence the angel.

He’d gotten himself twenty-four hours and he didn’t have the first idea of what to do with them, other than maybe hope that Loki would calm down and change his mind, which didn’t seem all that likely. Loki just watched him with a frustrating kind of patience like he was waiting for Clint to give up.

“It’s cowardly,” Clint tried. Loki shrugged.

“Probably.”

“What about _spite?_ If Odin sent you here to die, don’t do what _he_ wants.”

“It turns out that spite is not quite enough to live on,” Loki said with a faint, crooked smile, and Clint just got _pissed._

“Fuck you,” he said again, in disgust. “You just - _fuck you._ ”

Loki’s smile faded. “This can all be over,” he said, with a perverse kind of gentleness that made Clint itch. “I’ve made up my mind, Agent Barton. Clint. You shouldn’t waste your energy fighting a losing battle. You wanted me to be gone-”

“I told you,” Clint snapped, “I don’t want you _dead._ You _have_ to know how stupid this is. How pointless.”

“It may actually be the least pointless thing I’ve done since Odin exiled me,” Loki said thoughtfully. “The Chitauri would leave your Realm. You would have peace. And so would I.”

Clint wanted to scream. “You don’t know that,” he said. “You don’t know that they’ll leave, my life has _never_ been peaceful, and don’t you people have a Hell?”

Loki shrugged. “I have never put much stock in it.”

Clint ground the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I could just hog-tie you and leave you in the bathtub until you get over this bullshit.”

Loki’s lips quirked. “I think you would miss the use of your bathtub.”

“Stop that,” Clint snapped, jabbing a finger in Loki’s direction. “ _Stop -_ making jokes, acting like, like you don’t _care_ about anything.”

Loki raised his eyebrows. “What did you expect? Sobbing and screaming? For the first time, I know for certain what I am going to do. I have made up my mind. There is a clarity in that. Truthfully, it is a relief.” He huffed a quiet laugh. “I feel lighter than I have felt in years.”

Clint felt sick again. He felt like he’d read that somewhere, at some point - that before people killed themselves they got happier, calmer, but _knowing_ that was what was going on just made it - _eerie._ “Yeah, well, _un_ make your mind up,” he snapped. “I’m not fucking letting you do _anything._ I will - so help me, I’ll tell _Freida_ what you’re really planning-”

Loki stiffened, very slightly. The first sign of any negative reaction he’d seen since getting back. “You will not.”

“I will,” Clint said brutally. “See what she does with that. Maybe you’d listen to _her_ more than _me._ ”

“Maybe I would just tell her the truth,” Loki said, the faint smile gone. “See how quickly she runs then.”

“You don’t want to do that,” Clint said ruthlessly. “If you want someone - _me -_ who remembers you like you were, you want someone like _her_ who _cares_ about you and doesn’t have a damn clue that she shouldn’t.” Wait. Shit.

“But you’re right,” Loki said, his eyes sharpening. “She shouldn’t. You know that, I know it-”

“Shut up,” Clint said. “Just because you’re an asshole doesn’t mean you deserve to _die._ All right?”

Loki blinked, and actually did shut up. Not for long, though. “You’ve changed your tune. You did think I deserved it. You simply did not want to be the one who meted it out - and that mostly because I tried to force you to kill me.”

“I-” Clint squeezed his eyes closed. It was hard to _think._ A part of him hadn’t wanted to kill Loki to spite him, sure, but all along there’d been a bit that just didn’t want to because of some weird fucked up _leftovers_ from whatever Loki’d done to his brain, and now- “Things changed. _You’ve_ changed, you’re significantly less of a bastard than you used to be, for one-”

“Am I?” Loki said. “Or am I just no longer trying to actively antagonize you?”

“Same thing,” Clint said.

“I am exactly the same as I always was,” Loki said. “I have not magically become better-”

“No, cause that’s not how it works,” Clint snapped. “You don’t just _become better,_ you _do_ better, and that’s what you’re _doing_ by not _acting like an asshole_ all the time. How do you think this works for most people? Don’t answer that,” he said when Loki opened his mouth. “I don’t want to know.”

Loki sat back. “Some people are rotten. You must know that.”

“I don’t know shit,” Clint said, which was ripe for a joke that Loki didn’t make. He just sighed, sounding exasperated.

“You don’t have to do anything. I would walk out of your door and you would never see me again,” Loki said. “There would be no blood on your hands-”

“Debatable,” Clint interrupted. “Besides, it’s not about me feeling _guilty._ So shut your mouth. You’re not going to change my mind and you should know by now that I’m just as stubborn as you are. Maybe more.”

Loki had the gall to look disappointed. “If I called Agent Romanov-”

“Don’t,” Clint snapped. “You’d just get _me_ in trouble. And then she’d just want you taken into SHIELD. So nice try, but no.”

Loki looked up at the ceiling with a sharp exhalation. “You are just being _difficult._ ”

“ _I’m_ being difficult?” Clint’s voice rose sharply. “Look who’s talking? You’re the one who’s decided to go kill yourself and is making _me_ argue you off the cliff – and don’t say it,” he said in disgust when Loki opened his mouth, “ _don’t_ say I could just stop, I _will_ punch you. Look, there are other solutions here-”

Someone knocked on the door. Clint jerked around, half reaching for a sidearm that he didn’t have on him. Loki tensed, and Clint gave him a look. “I’m pretty sure that’s not the Chitauri,” he snapped, and paced over to the door to look through the peephole.

It was Freida. Standing there holding some kind of casserole or something. Clint turned back toward Loki.

“It’s Ms. Brustein,” he said, dropping his volume. “I’m going to let her in. Don’t…be stupid.”

Loki said nothing, just looked out toward the windows, his lips pressed together. Clint decided to take that as agreement and glanced around quickly to make sure nothing weird was visible before he opened the door.

“Hey,” Clint said, hoping his smile didn’t look too strained. “How’re you? Kári and I were just talking about you.”

“Were you?” Freida sounded pleased, her slight frown turning toward a smile. “Well, that’s sweet. Provided it wasn’t anything bad, I suppose.”

“No, no,” Clint said. “Not at all. Actually, we were talking about having you for dinner tomorrow evening. Since you had us over and all, figured we should return the favor.” Loki made a slight noise.

“Have you forgotten that I am going to be otherwise occupied tomorrow evening?” He said, a little too politely. Clint looked at him and blinked innocently.

“I don’t remember you saying anything about that. What’re you doing?”

“Oh, now,” Freida said, though her eyes had moved from Clint to Loki, and based on the way her eyebrows furrowed she wasn’t happy about what she saw. Loki had definitely made a tactical error in bringing attention to himself. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt any important plans.”

“Come on,” Clint said, trying to make it sound like he was joking. “It can’t be as important as having dinner with Freida. Right?”

Loki turned his head just enough to give Clint a dirty look that Freida couldn’t see. Clint smiled at him, privately a little relieved. Every little bit of annoyance was better than apathy. If Loki thought he could annoy Clint into killing him, maybe Clint could annoy Loki into wanting to live. “I suppose not,” he said finally, dredging up a smile that was just a little too weak to be really convincing. “I am sure dinner with you would be delightful.”

“Don’t strain yourself, dear,” Freida said. “Are you feeling unwell again? You look a touch under the weather.”

Again? Clint thought, but Loki avoided his quick look. No surprises there. “I’m perfectly all right,” Loki said. “Just...have not been sleeping well.”

Freida clucked her tongue and shook her head. “Well, hopefully some casserole will do you good.”

“I’m certain it shall. Thank you.”

“So,” Clint said. “Dinner?”

“Oh, dear,” Freida said. “Actually - I’m afraid I can’t tomorrow night. I’m going to Boston for a few days - how about that!” Clint felt his heart sink, wondering bizarrely if Loki had somehow planned that. Or if someone else had. Could Thor’s dad _do_ that? “But how about tonight?” She was saying. “I’m having some friends over for Mahjong, and you two would be welcome.”

“Sure,” Clint said at once, not giving himself time to think about it or giving Loki time to naysay the idea. “Sure, yeah, we’ll be there.”

Clint could almost hear Loki’s resigned sigh, but he just smiled faintly. “Your company is always a pleasure, Freida.”

“Oh, you flatterer,” she said, but seemed pleased. “Eat some casserole and come on over. We’ll be starting around seven.”

“Great,” said Clint, maybe a little too loudly. “See you then.”

She left, and Clint turned to Loki. “So I guess you’d better stick around until at least seven,” he said ruthlessly. “Unless you want to disappoint her by not showing.”

He’d been hoping for more annoyance, but now Loki just looked tired. “You should know a losing battle when you see one, Clint. And know better than to waste resources.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore, remember?” Clint put the casserole on Loki’s legs. “Here. Eat something. I don’t even want to know when was the last time you did.”

“I am not hungry,” Loki said, lips twisting.

“Too bad.” Clint pointed at the casserole. “Eat some anyway. I don’t suppose you know how to play Mahjong, do you?”

“Yes,” Loki said, still staring at the casserole like it might vanish if he just looked at it for long enough.

“Of course you do,” Clint said after a beat. “Well then, lucky you. You get to teach me before tonight. That’ll give you something to do other than arguing with me about your death wish. How’s that sound?” Clint didn’t wait for Loki to answer. “Great,” he said, with a nearly savage grin. “Let’s start with the basics.”

* * *

Evening rolled around before Clint felt like he had a very good handle on the game. He needn’t have worried, though: Freida’s friends were almost entirely distracted by their guests – mostly Loki.

“Ladies,” Freida said. “These are my neighbors, Clint and Kári.” She patted Loki’s arm, for all the world like a proud mother. “Kári is the one I’ve told you about. And this is Miriam, Shirley, Ruth, and Sylvie.”

“Oh,” said Shirley, who looked to Clint to be the youngest. “He _is_ skinny.”

“You flatter me,” Loki murmured, which made them hoot with laughter. Clint wasn’t sure if he was jealous or relieved – he could keep relatively quiet while the ladies plied Loki with questions about his family and his hobbies and interests, the game mostly forgotten despite Sylvie’s attempts to recall them to it. Clint edged around over to her.

“Sorry to disrupt game night,” he said, with a half smile. “I didn’t expect Kári to be such a hit.”

“Ah, well,” Sylvie said philosophically. “There’ll be other nights. I know the company has been very nice for dear old Freida.” _Old?_ Clint thought with some amusement; she and Sylvie looked about the same age, to his eye. He glanced quickly over at Loki, and felt a well of relief to see there was a slight smile on his face. He appeared to be listening intently to Shirley telling an animated story about her trip to Italy.

“I think it’s been good for him, too,” Clint said after a moment’s hesitation, and another in which he considered before adding, “that’s actually why I was so pleased to hear about tonight. Kári’s been a little down and I thought maybe getting to hang out with you great ladies would help.”

“Now! Are you trying to charm me, Clint?” Sylvie said, but she sounded delighted. Clint grinned at her.

“Just saying as I see it, ma’am,” he said.

“Clint, dear,” Freida said suddenly, a little louder than seemed necessary. “Could I borrow you in the kitchen for a moment?”

“Sure,” Clint said after a brief pause. “Happy to help.” He gave Sylvie a quick smile. “I’ll be right back.”

He followed Freida into the kitchen, glancing just briefly at Loki to make sure he was still there. Freida went over to the fridge and opened it, then closed it without taking anything out and turned to look at him. “What’s the matter with Kári?”

Clint blinked. “What?” He said blankly, genuinely surprised. Freida frowned.

“You don’t think I’m _completely_ blind, do you? Something’s gone off about him. First he comes and announces that he’s going to be moving soon and he wanted to say goodbye now, but he wouldn’t say what he was going to do or where he’s going. He just keeps getting skinnier and he might be pretending passably right now but earlier in your apartment – he didn’t sound like himself at all. So what is it? And don’t say it’s nothing, because I didn’t believe it from Kári and I won’t believe it from you.”

Oh, shit, Clint thought. He should’ve – no, _Loki_ should’ve – figured out Freida was smart enough to notice something had changed. “It’s…hard to explain,” he said slowly. “He’s…like I said, things have been rough lately.”

“And this move?” Freida was eyeing him and Clint thought to wonder if she still thought he and Loki were…together. “Where _is_ he going?”

“Um – nothing’s settled yet,” Clint said. “I mean – I think he should stay in the city. Maybe you should tell him so too,” he said, with a sudden burst of inspiration. “Your opinion’d mean a lot.”

Freida looked troubled. “I did say I’d be sorry to see him go, but Kári seemed so certain…”

_Yeah,_ Clint thought grimly. _I bet he did._ “Well, nothing’s settled, like I said,” he repeated, maybe a little too firmly because Freida gave him a strange look. He paused, and added, “I’m, uh…working on it.”

“Good,” Freida said, sounding approving. “And you let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.” She patted Clint warmly on the shoulder and went back to the living room. Clint followed after her a little more slowly; he saw Loki lift his head and their eyes met for a moment. Clint looked quickly away from the question on Loki’s face.

“Kári tells me you’re quite a cook,” Sylvie said when he sat down next to her again. “Is that true?”

And now they were all looking at him. “I guess,” he said, a little awkwardly. “I mean…I’m decent. I like doing it.” He glanced at Loki, who raised an eyebrow at him. Clint wondered what this was about. Did he think Clint had been jealous of the attention?

So what if maybe he had, a little? _He_ wasn’t the one who needed a fucking reason to live.

“He is modest,” Loki said. “Do not let yourselves be fooled.”

“I guess I’ll have to take you up on that dinner invitation!” Freida said brightly. “When I get back from Boston, certainly.”

“Sure,” Clint said. “Yeah, sounds good.” He should be acting more sociable. “I guess I do make a mean berry pie.”

That set off a chorus of questions about his technique, and when Clint glanced at Loki again, realizing he’d been quiet for some time, he noted the faintly satisfied expression on his face. What did he think he’d achieved?

People started drifting out as the evening wore on. Clint caught Freida talking quietly to Loki at one point, a bit of a look on Loki’s face like he didn’t know how to respond, and quickly looked away. Eventually, though, they did have to leave.

“Take care, Kári,” Freida said, holding Loki’s hands for a moment before leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. Loki’s expression twitched, but then he smiled faintly.

“Thank you, Madam. You have been very good to me.”

“And you, Clint,” Freida said, patting him on the shoulder. “Be a good boy, now.”

Clint hadn’t heard that one in a while. “Do my best,” he said, giving her a small smile. “And, uh – goodnight, ladies,” he added to Sylvie and Ruth, who were still parked in the living room.

“Goodnight!” They both chorused, and Clint followed Loki out into the hallway. Loki was quiet, expression pensive, and Clint felt a little wiggle of unease.

“What were you talking about with Freida?” He asked. Loki shook his head.

“It is unimportant. She is – a kind woman. That is all.”

“Yeah,” Clint said, hoping it sounded a little pointed. “She is.”

“I should think that more than reason enough for me to keep my distance.” Loki tucked his hands in his pockets and nodded toward Clint’s door. “Shall we?”

Clint pressed his lips together but walked over to the door and opened it, gesturing Loki in before entering himself. “That was good, wasn’t it?” he asked, and hated the slightly plaintive note in his voice. Fuck Loki for doing this to him. “See what you’re missing out on if you check out now? There’s many more game nights with nice old ladies in your future if you stick around.”

Loki’s smile was faint and a little wistful. “They are very kind.”

“Yeah,” Clint said. “And they _love_ you. You’re practically an old lady magnet.”

Huffing a quiet laugh, Loki ducked his head. “So it would seem.”

“So?” Clint said, pressing. “Put off the plans a little longer, huh? Maybe things aren’t as bleak as you thought?”

Loki’s lips curved faintly. “Goodnight, Clint,” he murmured. Clint frowned.

“That’s not an answer.”

“I promised you twenty-four hours,” Loki said, quiet but resolute. “That is what you have had. But I thank you. For trying.”

He walked over to the couch and laid down, his eyes closed. Clint stared at him, something aching dully in his chest. “Time’s not up yet,” he managed to say, eventually. Loki didn’t answer. “I’m not giving up. Unlike you, you – fucking _coward._ ”

“You say that like it will somehow be news to me,” Loki said, not opening his eyes. “I know what I am, Clint. There is no name you can throw at me that I have not already heard. That I do not already know for myself. Yes: I am a coward. A very tired coward who has lingered long enough.” He sighed. “Go to bed. I will be here in the morning, if you will not change your mind and let me slip away quietly.”

“No,” Clint said harshly. “I won’t.”

“Then I will wait,” Loki said. “In the morning I will bid you farewell, and we will both be free.”

“Death isn’t freedom,” Clint said flatly.

“Maybe not for you,” Loki murmured. “For me…it is on the only freedom I have.”

* * *

Clint’s dreams were muddled and unpleasant things where Loki _did_ tell him to kill him and Clint did it, only then it turned out that he’d stabbed Natasha. “Why did you lie to me?” She asked, and then Clint was in a dingy hotel room watching Loki sleep, and he looked sick – he looked _dead,_ and Clint was so angry at whoever had reduced his _master_ to this-

And then his phone was ringing, but he’d dumped his phone out the window miles ago-

No, that was his actual phone and he was dreaming.

Clint woke up, already groping for the phone vibrating on his bedside table, only briefly checking the caller ID (Nat) before answering. “Hey, what’s,” he started to say, but Natasha interrupted him.

“We’ve got a problem.”

Clint sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “What kind of problem?”

“The kind of problem you need to suit up for,” Natasha said, her voice tight. “And it’s your lucky day. You won’t even need to go far.”

“I’m going to need a little more than-”

He felt the muffled explosion in his teeth. Maybe a half a mile away, he guessed, even as he started moving. Sounded big. Maybe a gas line?

“How does AIM picking a fight with itself sound?” Natasha said. “Apparently I did my job just a little _too_ well, and it’s up to the team to contain the damage.” A pause, and her voice was slightly muffled when she said: “yeah, sure, Tony, next time I’ll let _you_ handle the espionage, I’m sure you could have done so much better.”

“I’m on it,” Clint said, pulling on a pair of socks.

“Make it fast,” Natasha said. “We don’t want this to last long enough for any advanced weaponry to get involved.”

Clint hung up, fully awake now. He could get dressed fast when he needed to, and right now he needed to. He’d have to take the fire escape out to make sure that no one saw him leaving in costume – at least he could maintain a _thin_ cover.

“What’s going on?”

Oh, shit. Clint turned, pulling his hand back from his bow. “Avengers business,” he said. Loki looked mussed, like he’d just woken up too. And spooked.

“That was an explosion,” he said. “Very nearby. Is it-”

“Not your friends,” Clint said, picking up his bow. “Nothing to do with you. I need to go. Look, just – stay put. If you need something to do, go reassure Freida, I’m sure she’s freaked out.”

Loki frowned, eyebrows pulling together. “What are _you-_ ”

“I have to go do my job,” Clint said harshly, opening the window onto the fire escape. “This isn’t your problem, and you’re not going to be much use, so just – _stay put._ I’ll be back soon.”

He jumped out the window and went down the fire escape as quickly as he dared and hit the ground running.

A couple blocks had been generous. Clint made it three before he ran into the first of the fighting and a massive hole in the street. He took out a cyber-enhanced guard like the ones he’d seen at the meet (one of her metal arms not only stripped of skin but also seemingly converted into some kind of gun) and pinged Nat on his communicator to let her know where he was.

It was chaos like it was always chaos, oversized AIM mechs and so far nobody had pulled out any nasty energy or bio weapons but it was probably only a matter of time. He met up with Nat on Greene and Throop.

“There goes the neighborhood, huh?” He said, with a quick grin. After the last couple days, at least in some ways this was almost a relief.

“Hilarious,” Natasha drawled, and then her expression turned to one of alarm. “Clint-!”

He spun and found himself staring down the barrel of a weapon that, based on its sickly green glow, was not going to do anything good.

The soldier holding it buckled with a yell. Clint took his chance, yanked the gun away and took the guy out with a knee applied to his throat – and noticed the knife sticking out of the back of his knee.

It was one of his. His throwing knives.

Clint straightened and spun around, searching the street. It only took a second to find him.

Like he should have expected that Loki would listen to orders.

Clint would’ve expected him to look happier, somehow. Gleeful about getting to exercise those homicidal tendencies, maybe – but he just looked grim, focused. He must’ve used all of Clint’s throwing knives because now he was just down to the extra Bowie blade that Clint kept hidden under his dresser. Nobody else seemed to have noticed he was there.

And Loki didn’t seem to have noticed the AIM cyborg sneaking up on him. Clint armed an electromagnetic pulse arrow without thinking, sighted, and fired.

The cyborg dropped and Loki turned, looked at it and then followed the line of the shot back to Clint. He started to smile, without really thinking about it.

Except one of the soldiers Loki had dropped was still moving. Clawing his way up, one metal hand reaching until he managed to grab Loki’s shoulder, the other cocked back. Clint’s mouth opened but no words came out, no warning, nothing.

Loki’s body arched, eyes opening wide as the claws punched through his stomach, metal gleaming with blood, and didn’t make a sound. Clint stared, frozen, as Loki looked down at the arm protruding from his gut and blinked once, a strange look crossing his face. “Oh,” he said, and then the soldier-cyborg yanked the appendage free and Loki folded.

Clint heard himself make a noise. It wasn’t a yell, or a shout – just a sort of strangled choking sound, moving on autopilot to fire an exploding arrow into the thing’s neck. There were only a few scattered AIM soldiers still standing, and Clint was already moving without thinking, disconnected from himself.

This wasn’t supposed to be happening. He’d _told_ Loki to stay put. He’d said – why didn’t he fucking _listen?_

“No,” he could hear Thor shouting. “No, _no,_ ” as he crashed to his knees next to Loki, and Clint was thinking _maybe it’s not that bad, maybe-_

The world snapped back into motion. Clint’s heart was racing and he was on his knees across from Thor with Loki’s body between them. Still alive. _For now._ _No, goddammit,_ no.

“Is that,” Tony’s mechanized voice said, sounding uncertain.

“Yes,” Clint snapped, “it is, long story, _Thor, do something._ ” Even as he said it, though, he knew there wasn’t really anything Thor _could_ do. He’d said it himself, hadn’t he, a long ways back – _no get out of death free clause for you._ And the look on Thor’s face as he knelt, in the spreading pool of Loki’s blood, was lost and desolate. Loki’s breathing was shallow and uneven, and his eyes hadn’t opened, and after everything Loki got himself killed fighting on their goddamn team. There was something there, poetic irony or tragedy or something, and Clint didn’t _care,_ he was just _angry._

“I know not – what can I do?” Thor said, and Clint wanted to say _tell your dad to take it back._ Maybe, he thought wildly, maybe there _was_ some kind of cheat built in, didn’t getting involved in a fight practically unarmed count as suicide, fuck Loki, _fuck_ him, he didn’t get to bail like this before Clint had figured it all out. “A hospital…”

“There’s no point,” Natasha said, and if the words were brutal her voice was strangely gentle, and Clint could feel her eyes on the back of his head, feel her putting it together, and didn’t want to know what she was thinking.

Loki’s eyelids fluttered and opened to a dull green sliver. Thor jerked, but Loki’s gaze didn’t fix on anything in particular, just upwards, towards nothing, and even as his breathing stuttered into a gurgle Clint watched a smile touch the corners of his mouth, utter relief slowly suffusing his expression. “ _No,_ ” Thor said, his voice thick and wet, but Clint just stared, perfectly numb.

He expected a miracle, he realized. Even as the light left Loki’s eyes and he went perfectly still on the broken concrete, he expected a last minute save. A gasp of breath restarting. Something. That was what the fucking Avengers _did._

Loki wasn’t an Avenger, though, of course. Wasn’t Thor.

It was only when Thor let out a wail and dragged Loki’s unmoving corpse into his arms, face buried in the shoulder of the green shirt he was wearing, that it started to come home that that was it. Really it. Ding, dong, the witch is dead, it was _over._

The image was frozen in his head, the look on Loki’s face, that quiet _oh,_ and Clint got it in a way he hadn’t, really.

Six months and four days after he’d first turned up in Clint’s apartment, Loki had finally gotten his wish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning** this chapter for major character death. 
> 
> So...yes. I've been planning for this ending for, as I mentioned in the beginning notes, about four years. Things were always heading in this direction: it was just a matter of how we got here, and getting these boys to where I needed them to be before this point. I will say, though, before you come yelling at me for emotional damages: there is one more chapter of this fic to go. 
> 
> I hope you're looking forward to it. I know I am.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, it's actually over. 
> 
> I am in equal measure sad and relieved. I started writing this fic almost four years ago in 2013. Some of you have been with me all that time; some of you have popped up along the way. All of you are great. I could not ask, on the whole, for a better bunch of readers. Thank you. 
> 
> Special thanks to my [beta](http://ameliarating.tumblr.com), who not only helped with edits from start to finish but was also a consistently reassuring voice in my moments of self-doubt. 
> 
> As always, I can be found on [on my blog](http://veliseraptor.tumblr.com). Check out the [tag for this verse](http://veliseraptor.tumblr.com/tagged/wnfwswm) for some extra headcanons and commentary, along with some missing scenes that didn't really fit in the fic (and may or may not be fic canon). 
> 
> It's been fun, guys. And seriously, thanks.

Thor removed Loki’s body…somewhere. Asgard, maybe? Clint didn’t ask, and nobody told him.

No one was telling him anything, in fact. A whole lot of awkward silence. Clint wondered how much they’d put together, and what they thought they knew. Probably he should be trying to explain, but he couldn’t quite figure out how.

It had all been so _fast._ Clint didn’t even feel _upset,_ exactly – just sort of numb.

Eventually, he excused himself back to his apartment, but the moment he stepped inside he regretted it. There was still a book out on the couch. The blankets Loki had been using were on the floor where they must have fallen when he’d gone running out. Clint rocked back and then forward. He shelved the book and threw the blankets in the laundry. Half on impulse, he checked the counter to see if there was some kind of note, last words, whatever.

Nothing there, of course. Clint knew it didn’t work like that.

( _Oh,_ he’d said. And that was all.)

He flicked on the TV. A nature documentary came up and Clint watched it for a couple minutes, wondering if this was what Loki’d been doing before he’d gone down to die. What had he been thinking? Had he just gone, doing his best _not_ to think so the spell couldn’t catch him? Looked out the window and seen his chance to bow out, no one standing in his way, just…

 _Fuck you,_ Clint thought savagely. _You selfish, stupid ass._

The buzzer went off and for a _stupid_ second Clint thought it was going to be Loki. It wasn’t, of course. It was Natasha. He let her in and rubbed his face. He’d known this conversation was coming, but he’d figured he might have longer. He still didn’t know what the hell he was going to say.

He opened the door when she knocked. Her expression looked…sympathetic, but Natasha could make her face do anything she wanted to. “Hey,” she said. Clint managed to track down a wan smile.

“Hey. Come in.”

Natasha stepped inside, leaning in to kiss his cheek. Clint almost started, surprised by the unusual show of affection. “How are you?” She asked.

“Dangerous question,” Clint said, looking away. “I’m fine.”

“I bet.” Natasha sat down on his couch and studied him. “Are you going to tell me what happened?” She asked. Clint avoided her gaze.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Natasha said, “with Loki.”

He could probably keep hedging. She might even let it go, if she were feeling charitable. But there wasn’t any more reason to keep it to himself, was there? “About six months ago I came home and Loki was in my apartment,” Clint said, looking at the floor rather than at Natasha. “I, uh. Reacted about how you’d expect. But it was clear pretty fast that Loki was…human. Or at least vulnerable like one – that was his sentence, like Thor. And he wanted me to kill him.”

Natasha’s expression only twitched a little. “But you didn’t.”

“No,” Clint said. “He threatened you if I revealed that he was here. I said I wouldn’t kill him, mostly because he was trying to make me do it. He said he’d just stay here until I changed my mind.”

There her eyebrows _did_ go up. “And you said?”

“I didn’t exactly have a lot of options.” Clint sighed heavily. “I let him stay. He’s been living here since. Sleeping on the couch. Being an enormous pain in my ass.”

“Oh,” Natasha said after a moment. “Huh. That actually…explains a lot of things.” She sounded remarkably calm. Clint would’ve expected…not that. “But not everything,” she added.

“Don’t ask me for an explanation,” Clint mumbled. “I don’t have one. I don’t know. It was – it was weird. He was weird. And he was…changing. I think. He was really – his dad did it, you know? Sent him to a planet full of people who hate him with no protection. There was a – _suicide_ clause, so Loki couldn’t just kill himself. It seems like this guy, Thor’s dad, set it up for something like this to happen. Just a – a long death sentence.”

Natasha was watching him, a strange expression on her face. “You feel sorry for him,” she said.

“No,” Clint said. “Dammit, no, I _don’t-_ ” _Liar._ “It’s just – Nat. Toward the end – I don’t _know._ Maybe I do. A little.” He rubbed his eyes. “The sleeping pills – weren’t for me.” _Don’t judge me,_ he wanted to beg. _Don’t ask what’s wrong with me, I don’t know._

Natasha sighed heavily. “I should’ve guessed,” she said. “I knew you were keeping a secret. Hiding something.”

Clint laughed humorlessly. “Really? You would’ve guessed that Loki was my new roommate?”

“No,” Natasha said after a moment. “I guess I probably wouldn’t’ve.” She studied him. “ _Are_ you all right?”

“Yeah,” Clint said. “Yeah, of course.” And he _was._ He was just _fine._ “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know,” Natasha said. “Just asking.”

* * *

Nobody complained when Clint ground his coffee in the morning. Nobody objected when he turned on the game on TV. He had his damn couch back.

The apartment felt too quiet.

Two days after Loki died came the message he’d really been dreading: from Thor, back on Earth and asking if they could talk. 

Clint stared at his phone, set it down and picked it up again. He could just – not reply. Eventually Thor would probably corner him, but it might be easier then, and Clint _was_ pretty good at slipping out of unwanted conversations. Besides, what the hell was he supposed to _say?_

_Sorry your brother’s dead. Oh yeah, did I tell you he was living with me? True story._

Clint sighed. He couldn’t do it. Thor deserved an explanation at least as much as Natasha. Maybe more. Thor had just lost his brother.

 _Yeah, sure,_ he wrote. _Come over._ He regretted the invitation a second later – Thor? In his shitty apartment? – but it was too late to take it back now.

Thor’s knock on his door was heavy, and Clint realized that he’d zoned out staring into space. He glanced around to make sure there was nothing terribly embarrassing lying around and opened the door. “Hey,” he said. “Sorry about the space. Not exactly a palace.”

Thor did not smile. “That is all right. Thank you for allowing me to speak with you.”

“Yeah, sure,” Clint said. “No problem.” Thor looked drained in a way Clint had never seen him, his face drawn. If Clint was frank, he looked sort of wrecked. “Sit down,” Clint said, with a vague gesture toward the living room. “Um – do you want anything?”

“No, Clint Barton. Thank you.” Thor sat on the end of the couch, looking around, and Clint stood where he was and watched him, mouth dry.

“I am given to understand that my brother was here,” Thor said. “With you.”

“Nat told you?” Thor inclined his head, and Clint blew out a breath.

“Though I had already guessed.” Thor paused, staring at the window. “How long?”

Clint swallowed hard. “Six months. Give or take.”

“He was banished before that,” Thor said, voice distant. “I wonder…where he was then.”

Clint walked almost gingerly over and sat down, forcing himself to look at Thor. “I’m – I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. He threatened to hurt Natasha if I told anyone.”

Thor nodded slowly. His eyebrows were knitted together, but he didn’t look angry. Clint would almost have rather he did. This Thor just seemed sort of hollowed out. “Why did he come to you?” Thor asked. He turned his headraised his eyes slowly,raising his eyes turning his head to meet Clint’s. “I mean that not as a slight on you. I just…do not understand.”

Clint couldn’t hold his gaze. “Is it important now,” he mumbled. The idea of telling Thor the truth felt grotesque. Maybe even cruel.

“Please,” Thor said, something briefly raw in his voice. “I am just trying to understand.”

There was a hard lump in Clint’s throat making it hard to swallow. “He…” Clint stopped, and started again. “He came to try to – make me kill him.” Thor inhaled sharply like he’d been struck.

“To kill him,” Thor echoed. Clint shifted.

“He said – he said it’d be better than being human.” But that wasn’t it. Or wasn’t all. “And I think…I think he was scared.” He stared at Thor’s feet. “Of the Chitauri, or whoever was – is – in charge of them.”

“But you did not strike him down,” Thor said quietly. Clint thought he might be sick if Thor thanked him for that.

“I guess. Yeah. But it wasn’t…wasn’t like it was _kindness_ or anything, I just said no to spite him and next thing I knew he was sleeping in my living room and making me buy his stupid yogurt and getting overdue fines on my library card-”

Christ, Clint thought. His eyes were burning. Was he going to _cry?_ Stupid. That was just _stupid._ Loki was dead, he’d got what he wanted. Clint had his apartment back, which was what _he_ wanted. He was just – _mad_ because he’d had more to say, more to figure out, and Loki had ruined that.

Thor was looking at him, something almost hungry, desperate in his eyes. “He was reading books?” He asked, leaning forward. “What else, tell me-“ And he stopped, seeming to catch himself. “I am sorry, Clint, my friend. I am being selfish.”

“Loki was your brother,” Clint said dully. “I can…I can understand. I just…can’t. Right now. Maybe later.” _He was changing at the end,_ Clint thought. _And it hurt but maybe with more time he might’ve,_ but would telling Thor that just make it worse? Drive the knife in deeper?

“Of course,” Thor said. “Only if you wish to.”

Clint swallowed again, eyes dropping back to his hands. “What happened to – you know. The body.”

“I…I brought Loki back to Asgard,” Thor said after a moment. “There will be a private ceremony for my family, and then his ship will be launched to burn, conveying his soul to Valhalla.”

“Right,” Clint said. “Yeah.” He didn’t even really know why he’d asked. Some part of him wondered what Loki would think of that. He could almost hear his voice: _well, of course they will accept me back now that I am no longer a living inconvenience. Dead men cannot disappoint._

“Thank you,” Thor said at last. Clint’s stomach turned.

“Thor-”

“Whether out of kindness or not,” Thor interrupted, “you housed my brother, and fed him, when he was alone. You offered companionship. And somehow you…brought him forth from his madness.”

Clint jerked. “Did I?”

Thor looked at him unhappily, though his lips curved in a smile. “Tell me truly, my friend. Would the Loki who attacked your city have lunged to the defense of mortals?”

Easy answer there. _Maybe he was just trying to get himself killed,_ Clint thought, but Loki had said if he even _thought_ about taking his own life the binding or whatever would stop him. But _reckless self-endangerment…_

He didn’t _know._ Would _never_ know.

“The brother I knew,” Thor said quietly. “He might have.”

Clint closed his eyes. “Thor,” he said, and then choked on the words a little bit. And now Thor was crying openly, in his living room. Clint just wanted to crawl under the couch and bury himself, a little bit. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m just. I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve this.”

“Nor do you,” Thor said. Clint shook his head.

 _What do you know about what I deserve,_ he’d asked Loki, and Loki had said _more than most._ He did, too. Knew Clint too fucking well. “I should’ve told you,” Clint said, his voice a little thick and strange. “Let you handle it. I was – shit. I was shit. Your brother…”

But Clint didn’t really know what he was trying to say. _Your brother was a fucked up mess who should really have been in therapy?_ Thor already knew that. “He was all right,” Clint managed. “Sometimes. In the end.”

* * *

Nobody seemed to quite know what to do with him. At least no one seemed to have told SHIELD anything, though – but Clint wondered how long Nat could keep them in the dark. And then they’d want to have him in and scour his brain out with steel wool making sure that there wasn’t any Loki floating around in his brain, like Clint wouldn’t know if there were.

At least, there wasn’t anything that SHIELD could fix.

He hesitated outside Freida’s door, wondering if he ought to tell her – wondering what she might’ve seen – but ended up chickening out. Hopefully she’d just think “Kári” had moved. He didn’t know how to explain the truth.

Seemed better to just let her have the fond memories. Probably eventually she’d come knocking and ask directly, but maybe by then he’d have a better answer. 

It was stupid little things that jarred him: a grocery list in Loki’s handwriting stuffed in a drawer, a bookmark in a book Clint hadn’t touched for years, and today, a carton of Loki’s dumb Greek yogurt, sitting in his fridge half-finished.

“Hey,” Natasha said. Clint hadn’t heard her come in, which was more than a little worrying. He was letting this get to him way too much.

“Hey,” he said, turning around and closing the refrigerator. Natasha cocked her head at him.

“Thought you’d want to know that the Chitauri have vanished.”

“That’s good,” Clint said dully. That dispelled any doubts Clint might’ve had about Loki’s claim that the Chitauri were there for him. How had they known he was dead? Clint supposed it didn’t really matter.

He could feel Natasha looking him up and down. “You’re taking this hard.”

Clint made a noise at the back of his throat. “Go ahead and tell me how nuts I am.”

“I don’t think you’re nuts,” Natasha said. Clint gave her a skeptical look. “All right. Maybe a little...confused.”

“I’m not,” Clint said, almost annoyed. “I’m not confused at all. I was telling you the truth about feeling better. In some perverse way that’s because of him. Because of having to deal with him being there. He stopped being the monster in my nightmares. I wasn’t scared anymore. I was still angry, still - I didn’t forgive him. But I’m not heartless either.

“He was a wreck, Nat. If the fact that he was actively looking to die didn’t clue you into that.”

Natasha’s lips twisted. “Just because someone is suffering-”

“Doesn’t give them the right to go after other people. I know. But he wasn’t. Not...at the end. He’d finally faced up to the fact that what he did - to me, to everyone - was wrong. When I came back from the mission with you and told him about the Chitauri closing in, he was just going to walk out there and let them have him, because getting me killed would be, and I quote, very poor repayment, and he didn’t want to incur an even greater debt. I was just starting to, to figure things out and now-”

He cut off. Natasha didn’t say anything, her expression nearly impossible to read.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Clint jerked his head to the side.

“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”

“I do,” she said. “I am. I know it’s...complicated. Whatever Loki was to you, enemy or...anything else, he was a lot. I know how it feels to lose something like that. And to know you shouldn’t miss it, even when you do.”

Clint slumped, the anger draining away. “Tasha...I’m sorry. For not telling you.”

“You couldn’t,” she said. “I understand, Clint.”

Clint dropped his head forward. “I don’t,” he said after a second. “I don’t understand any of this. And I hate it.”

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I know.” After a few seconds of silence, she moved over toward him, putting her hands gently on his shoulders. “Want to watch something? Make some popcorn, have a quiet evening?”

“Yeah,” Clint said. “That sounds nice.” He paused. “No nature shows, though.”

“All right,” Natasha said. To his relief, she didn’t ask questions about why.

* * *

It got easier.

Of course it did. Clint knew how this worked. People died and you got over it, even when ‘people’ were a crazy ex-god. Time passed, you moved on.

He moved on. No one really wanted to talk to him about it, so at least he didn’t have to deal with that. Natasha more or less moved in for a couple weeks, and to his relief everything seemed fine there – like she really _had_ forgiven him for keeping secrets.

Even if sometimes Clint thought she was also there to make sure he hadn’t been compromised.

Mostly…it was fine. Mostly. Just still hurt sometimes, like a fading bruise, and Clint wasn’t sure how he felt about the fact that eventually it would be gone entirely.

Today was Sunday, though: beautiful weather, no call from the Avengers, and he was going for a walk. Nowhere in particular, mostly just wandering.

Some kid who came up to maybe his waist bumped into him while he was distracted. “Sorry!” He said. “Wasn’t looking – have a good day, sir!” And dodged around Clint. He had no idea what made him do it – instinct, maybe, or old memories – but he checked for his wallet.

Gone.

Clint spun around. He could just see the kid moving off, hood up, but like he felt Clint looking at him he half turned and then took off running.

“Hey!” Clint yelled, and went after him. The kid was fast, and agile, and Clint almost lost him when he ducked into an alley but he was not letting some punk kid get away with his wallet.

Brat must not know this area very well, because he’d hit a dead end and was eyeing one of the fire escape ladders like he was thinking about making the jump. Clint slowed. “All right, kid,” he said. “Give it up. And give me back my wallet. What are you, ten? Dumbass move, stealing from an adult man, you’re lucky I’m-”

Nice, he’d been about to say, but the kid had spun around and was looking at him not with defiance but just a total lack of fear. “It isn’t my fault you weren’t watching it,” he said. “You can have it but I get to keep the cash.”

It wasn’t the attitude that silenced Clint, though. It was the _face._ He guessed maybe ten or eleven years old, though he was skinny enough that he might be older. Skinny, black hair flopping all over his face, _bright_ green eyes. Without the cover of baby fat you could tell that he was going to have killer cheekbones someday.

“What?” the kid said, sounding a little less sure of himself. “What’s your problem?”

“Loki?” Clint said, and even as he said it felt unspeakably stupid. It wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t, that was just – Loki was _dead_ and now Clint was looking for him in random street kids, what kind of idiot did that make him-

But the kid took a step back, wariness creeping into his expression. “How do you know my name?”

This kid. This skinny little thief, on his own. Still innocent enough to mouth off to a mark.

“Jesus,” Clint said. He took a half step toward Loki. “Listen-”

Too late. Loki threw something at his face, Clint’s reflexes made him move to catch it, and Loki was already halfway up the fire escape ladders by the time he’d figured out that the projectile was his wallet. “Too slow!” He called back to Clint, grinning, and vanished onto the roof. Clint stared after, still reeling.

 _Bastard got out of it after all,_ he thought, but there was something almost relieved that came with it.

He’d better call Thor. Maybe Natasha, too. New York was a big city, and he had a pint-sized mischief god to find.


End file.
